Where Words Fail: Book 6: It's All or Nothing
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: Smellerbee and Longshot are almost home. The forest is only a few days away, but things are only going to get more difficult from here. How much have things changed since they left for Ba Sing Se, and will their presence be welcomed?
1. Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 1: Spatula, Part 4: Show me ya moves!**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"_It's Pipsqueak an' The Duke! Pipsqueak an' The Duke! One's big and burly, the other's small and cute! Freedom Fighters true, from the Earth Kingdom to you, it's Pipsqueak - it's Pipsqueak and The Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke!_"

"Hahaha, yeah!" The Duke cheered, pumping his fists into the air and laughing.

From beside the young Freedom Fighter, an older boy sat perched on a log with a chunk of meat pinched between two chopsticks, an amused grin on his face that made his moustache quirk up with a scary sort of charm. With tan skin and sienna hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a cream-yellow tunic with green sleeves, he chuckled and said, "This is what Freedom Fighters do in their spare time, huh? Make up theme songs for themselves?"

"You should'a seen us on music night, Haru." Pipsqueak beamed, still standing from his flashy, dramatic performance, sweat glistening on his brow in the flickering firelight. "I was the best singing voice in the entire forest short'a the birds themselves. _And_ the most impressive triangle player."

Haru laughed again and turned to The Duke. "What instrument did you play?"

"The gong," The Duke beamed, leaning back on the rugged, patchy grass and grinning. The blades prodded at his palms and fingers, and the heat of the fire washed over him in gentle, rolling waves - not unlike the ocean, a unique dichotomy that fascinated the scientific part of his mind. "I'm not under a delusion of grandeur like Pipsqueak, I _know_ I'm terrible with music. The gong is all about timing, and I can do timing."

"Hey now," Pipsqueak growled, his baritone voice growing intimidating - but the grin spread across his jaw like butter on a roll betrayed him, and he moved back to the sizable gap in the ring of young warriors left by his absence, plopping down to the ground at The Duke's right. "I ain't _that_ bad...am I, The Duke?"

"Don't worry, big guy. It's the spirit that counts."

Pipsqueak guffawed at that, which proved infectious enough to draw laughter from those around them as well.

"So, you really grew up in the trees?" Asked the fourth and last person making the ring. Seated in a fantastic device that The Duke could only marvel over - a wooden box serving as a sort of chair that stayed perpetually low to the ground, with extensions for his bandage-wrapped legs and wheels located near his hips and feet - the fourth boy had mussed black hair pulled up into a partial topknot, hexagonal goggles pushed up to his forehead. He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "I'd say that's bizarre, but I've spent most of my life living on top of a mountain."

"We haven't spent our whole lives in the forest, either, Teo," The Duke said. With a belly full of delicious stew - nothing compared to what Skillet or Spatula would have cooked up, but meat was meat was meat - keeping his eyes open became more difficult with each passing moment, especially now that their entertainment had chosen to retire beside him. A lazy grin crossed his face. "Freedom Fighters come from all over the place before they join."

"Some of us are old enough to remember what came before," Pipsqueak said, hunkering down and fixing the flickering fire with a thoughtful frown. "I do. But we have friends that were orphaned so young, they don't know any other life. When we left the forest, the youngest one was five years old. Can you believe that? By the time he gets to be your guys' ages, all he'll have known is the trees. Not like it was a bad way of living."

"That's kind of sad," Haru murmured, picking up his still-unfinished bowl and picking out more of the meat chunks, not bothering with the cooked greens floating in the broth. Internally, The Duke scorned such a waste of food; his time in the Freedom Fighters, and then on the road with Pipsqueak, had taught him that any meal could be your last for a long period of time, that famine tended to rear its head when it was least wanted. It was better to march the road ahead on a full stomach. "But...it sounds kind of nice. You speak pretty highly about your time there."

"If I could go back an' do everything over in my life, I don't think I'd change a thing." Pipsqueak beamed again. "Yeah, the reasons we all wound up there stunk, but the Freedom Fighters are..._were_ such a huge family." The giant crooked his head to the side, a sigh escaping past his lips. "Okay. Maybe I'd change a few things. I'd make it so Jet didn't have his head so far up his butt about the Fire Nation. If - if only he hadn't blown up the dam...if only we'd been smart enough to stop him. Then we wouldn't've split up."

"But then we wouldn't be here at all, would we?" Teo said, his voice gentle. "Hakoda said that Sokka was inspired by coming across you two. It was _his_ plan to gather the Avatar's allies from around the world, wasn't it?"

"Heh, yeah," Pipsqueak murmured, shaking his head. "I just wish it hadn't cost Jet's life for it to come together like this. You would'a liked him, I think...he would'a really been a help to us here. Him, and Smellerbee, and Longshot. They were good people."

The Duke nodded in response, leaning forward. He didn't feel sleepy anymore - just, just sick, a little bit. The thought of his lost friends no longer hurt as much, but the little pains still dug barbs into his chest. "They were."

"I'm sorry," Haru said, casting his gaze to the ground.

Silence overcame the quartet; nearby, other warriors - Hakoda, Bato, Tyro, and more, Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom and Teo's peers from the Northern Air Temple - milled about, eating, chatting, planning. The convoy still had a handful of places to stop at, but the list of people Sokka had asked them to locate had shortened drastically in the month and a half they'd been on the move. Only a few remained, according to Hakoda. Then it would be off to rendezvous with Aang and the others, and then the eclipse would come, and...

"I joined the Freedom Fighters when I was about five," The Duke said at last, breaking the silence. "I almost didn't."

"What made you change your mind?" Teo asked.

"My mother." The Duke leaned forward. "She had always been sick, for as long as I could remember, and I didn't have a father or any other siblings. All I knew was that I had to - to take care of her. Because nobody else would. My village was always kinda impoverished, and everyone else had their own families to worry about. I didn't blame them. When the Fire Nation came, they didn't burn my village down - just took anyone who could stand on their own two feet and shackled 'em up. Pipsqueak, Smellerbee an' Jet saved me, but by the time I could go back home - to my village, it had such _beautiful_ trees, they bloomed with pink petals in the spring that fell like snow - my mom had been struggling to get by on her own without any help for too long. Combined with how much she worried about - about me..." he looked up at the sky, at the glittering blanket of stars that had been thrown over them, the moon bloated and silver and glowing at their core. "I was supposed to be the one taking care of her. The only peace of mind I get from that day is - at least she knew that I was okay."

"Come on, The Duke," Pipsqueak said, placing a ham-sized hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for that, I told you over and over."

"Yeah," The Duke murmured. "Yeah."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three years ago_

So. Hungry.

The scent of cooking meat wafted out from the wood building not too far away; Dian could, he could _see_ it, and it was a little weird that it was all the way out here in the middle of a forest. His tummy growled a ferocious protest up to him. There was _food_ in that building, somebody was _cooking_ it, and - he hadn't eaten anything filling in almost forever. Sure, the bread the Fire Nation gave him had been stale and pulled out a couple loose teeth, and the water had tasted funny, like metal - but it came regularly. Foraging for his own food while trying to find his way home to Ying Hua and only getting more and more lost...

He had only found some red, round berries that had tight, polished skin that shone in the sunlight, and eating those had made his stomach feel funny - like he was gonna throw up, except there wasn't nothing _to_ throw up.

Alongside the rich, delicious, _edible_ scent of meat, he could smell...fruit, yeah, something really sweet and yummy he was sure, because his mouth started to water just from the aroma. Beneath that - something flatter, not as delicious, but on an empty stomach he'd take anything so long as he could digest it. Greens, probably, even though he _hated_ greens. But Momma had always told him greens would make him bigger, stronger - and he had to be good for his Momma, he had to take care of her, and being big and strong was one way to help, right? Like - like some of the men in Ying Hua. Big and strong but busy with other things.

He hoped that one of the men in the village would notice that tiny little Dian had vanished. Hoped that they could take care of Momma until he - found his way home.

The boy's vision blurred and he felt his eyes sting, his nose start to run; he sniffled and wiped any threatening tears away, frowning so hard to get it to just _stop_. Thinking about Momma made him sad, but he had to be brave for her too, not just big and strong. He wouldn't get anywhere crying - he _had_ to be brave.

His tummy rumbled again, and he had to bite down on his tongue to prevent from moaning.

Momma had always taught him that stealing was bad. And it was! Stealing from other people - being so mean, it just didn't feel right. But that was an awful big building and Dian had seen a lot of older children going in and out, some carrying in unprepared food, some leaving with meals packed up in cloth-wrapped sacks to eat outside. It looked like there was _plenty_...they wouldn't notice if just a little went missing, right?

But what if he took food, and they only had enough for a certain amount of people? Then one person would have to go hungry that _wasn't_ Dian, and as much as Dian wanted to eat, he didn't know if he could let somebody else starve in his place. Momma had always told him to put others before himself, to be polite and nice and...

Momma was expecting him to come _home_, though. If he didn't eat, he wouldn't be able to make it back. The throw-up berries had proven that not everything that l_ooked_ delicious _was_ delicious, and it scared him to try something else just in case that made him sick as well. The people in the building wouldn't be eating poisoned food, and - and enough people moved in and out that, even if they had only one meal to go to a person, there would be enough food for the Person Left Out that his friends could share with him.

Right?

Any doubt left in his mind vanished. Dian narrowed his eyes and set his mouth into a determined frown; the only thing left to do now was _act_, and he could do that. After running away and sticking to the trees like Mister Giant had said, and then getting this far without anybody else's help...yeah. Gotta be brave, because Momma's counting on him.

He drew a deep breath and began to move towards the building, using the tree trunks between here and there as hiding places - like a game of hide and seek, only the numbers were all backwards, with a million seekers and only one hider. From here, he could see the main entrance pretty clearly; the building sat low and squat in a small clearing in the forest, stretched out really wide, as wide and deep as three of Ying Hua's houses put next to each other. The front doors were made of light, rough wood and could swing in _and_ out, something Dian had never seen before in a building. It fascinated him. Earth Kingdom insignias had been spaced out over each side of the building, the smaller squares inset into the larger circles doubling as windows just large enough for Dian to squeeze through. Near the back, a grove of small saplings struggled to reach upward - they, too, were trying to grow big and strong like their cousins around them, mighty trees that spanned up into the sky and scraped it with their gnarled, aged branches covered in crimson-red leaves.

That was another weird, almost hypnotic thing about this place. The color of the leaves was such a pure, deep red - a beautiful, natural color that reminded Dian of Ying Hua's pink-blossomed trees in springtime. This place could _almost_ be as pretty as his hometown, if it tried. If he weren't so hungry, he'd question the fact that they were that color in the wrong season. Autumn was still half a year away.

Twigs and brush crunched underfoot, but against the backdrop of the forest's natural inhabitants (and those that weren't native to the place), Dian figured the chance of being heard was pretty low. Birds chirped and hooted back and forth at each other, and he could vaguely make out the sound of people chattering - but low, murmured, as if something more wrong than a five-year-old trying to sneak into their kitchen to make a meal for himself was going on around here.

Dian gulped and continued his trek to the building's rear, reaching his first goal undiscovered. Pressing his back against the cool, rough stone, the scent of food overwhelming now, he let a rush of air loose from his chest. Back here, he could see the saplings clearly, and how they pressed close to the building - and, even better, right near one of the windows! This'd be a lot easier now. He wouldn't have to worry about climbing up the wall to get into the window, and he wasn't even sure he could have done it.

So.

His stomach growled again, this time more ferociously than ever, and the boy was moving before it could even settle. He'd try to eat his own fingers if he didn't get food in his belly _now_.

The sapling closest to a window had one branch low enough for Dian to reach, if he stood on his tippy-toes. His fingers curled around the rough bark, and suddenly he was back home in Ying Hua; he was the best tree-climber in the entire town, and this was just another vertical venture. He'd climbed higher trees in his time, but that didn't mean it was unimportant. Every conquered tree in Ying Hua had been an accomplishment, especially 'cause his friends had all been taller. Every tree had been a goal seen and met, and Momma was so _proud_ of him when he'd come home with new stories to tell.

He hoisted himself up, his arms quivering at first, but the promise of _food_ made his body stop rebelling against him. He pulled one short leg up, hooking it over the branch, using his newfound leverage to haul himself up. Setting one hand on the trunk of the sapling, he clambered up to his feet, the bark digging into the cheap, leather shoes the Fire Nation had forced him to wear; with balance perfected by tree climbing for forever, he reached up for the next branch, grabbed it, and spring-boarded off the first one to get high enough into the air.

The window was level with this branch; once situated on it, Dian crouched down, grabbed the branch between both arms and straddled it, tipping himself over so he dangled from it like a sloth monkey. Shimmying along the branch's length, the boy craned his head back so he could keep an eye on his goal; from here, he couldn't see anyone inside, but his vantage point wasn't the best - it'd be clearer to see once he got in the window itself. The sill came into reach, and he tightened his grip with one hand and his legs, using the other hand to grapple the rough wood.

Easy stuff for a champion tree-climber. He hauled the rest of his body along the branch's length and pushed away from it when close enough, hauling himself into and through the open window. The world gave way beneath him and he fell - landed hard on his back, biting his tongue to keep from hissing.

He'd been lucky to not fall on a counter or something like that, 'cause somebody might have been sloppy in cleaning up their knives. Or he could'a landed funny on the corners if he bounced off.

Still, he was in, and even though it _hurt_, the delectable odor of meat and fruit and baking bread wafting from all around, assaulting his nubby nose from all angles. Sitting up, he took a quick glance around - nobody stood nearby, nobody came running even though the lights were on and he could hear people moving around and talking. An island in the center of the room provided unanticipated cover, keeping him concealed from any wandering eyes. Scrambling up to his feet, Dian pressed against the counter just as a plate clattered against the wood surface above him.

"Whatcha got there, Skillet?" Somebody asked from beyond the island, coming from a few feet away. "Somebody got an order in on their lunch?"

"Yeah, it's some curry specially done up for Pipsqueak," the one named Skillet responded from the opposite side of Dian's cover. "He's been feeling really down since that mission got botched up, so I fixed him up a batch of Ba Sing Se-style curry. They use a bunch of different spices in the mixture from what we're used to."

"Oooh, that sounds _delicious_. You gonna serve it _en masse_ one day?" The first voice asked.

"Maybe." Skillet sighed and chuckled. "Those spices are really hard to get ahold of - they're common around Ba Sing Se, but there aren't many trade lines that collect them, so we rarely get them from convoy raids."

"Bummer."

"Tell me about it."

The owners of the two voices walked away. Dian's chest tightened and again he let go of a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

_Curry._ And not just _curry_, but _Ba Sing Se _curry. Oh, man - he couldn't have been any luckier. He hadn't had curry in _forever_.

That was worth getting caught for. He gave Skillet and her unnamed friend a chance to turn their attention elsewhere, counted to five inside his head, and chanced a peek over the countertop.

A quick glance yielded what Dian had expected: a small kitchen, with an oven and stove against one wall and a wash basin set into another; pots, pans, and other crockery hung from the walls, a single shelf running the perimeter of the room. A door led out into another room, but whatever laid beyond, he couldn't tell. Only the two people who had been speaking were in the kitchen with him - a boy that looked about Dian's age scrubbing the floor with a rag, and an older girl with pigtails and an apron, standing at one of the stoves. They were too busy working to look his way, and that was fine, that was good, because Dian's tiny, trembling fingers wrapped around the piping-hot stone plate, smooth and shiny with green-yellow glaze that shimmered in the sunlight. He brought it down and set it on the floor, blowing on the steaming rice and golden-brown sauce.

No time - no time to find a spoon. The food was _here_, it was _now_, and his tummy growled so loudly that for a second he was afraid it would give him away. The sooner he ate it, the sooner he could be on his way. It didn't matter that it was too hot, he'd make due.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The first bite was sublime.

He had learned that word from Old Man Chang down the street from where he lived with Momma; he was stooped with shaking hands and big knuckles, white, thinning hair that he kept back in a braid. His face was melty, like an ice treat that had been left out in the sun, but his smile was wide and reminded Dian of a younger person. He insisted on being called "Old Man Chang," too, which had always been weird to Dian - but the man was so nice, about that and about everything, that it seemed silly to deny him.

Old Man Chang had in his house a big shelf full of thick books. Not just scrolls, but actual _books!_ They smelled of must and their pages had yellowed with age, but they told so many interesting stories, and Old Man Chang delighted in having Dian over so he could hear the child read them aloud. (Not many children in Ying Hua could read; that was another tree he had climbed and conquered.) There were so many _words_ in those books; not just regular words, but bigger words, longer ones, and Dian loved to just sit down and learn them all as they cropped up. People spoke funny in the olden times - 'more formally,' Old Man Chang had said, with a nod of his balding head and that childlike, gap-toothed smile on his face.

Dian had learned the word 'sublime' two weeks before the Fire Nation took him away, and it was the only appropriate word for what he experienced when the spice and steam and richness of the curry washed over his tongue. He licked his fingers clean (Utensils? Who needs 'em?) before reaching into the plate and scooping up another handful, letting the flavor take him again, it was so _beautiful_ that he felt like - like crying, which was silly, but after having almost nothing to eat for so long...

After that, hunger claimed him in full. He stopped registering the flavor for the sake of filling his poor belly, because if he savored it for too long then he'd starve to death before finishing. To his credit, not a single spot of food remained on the plate after; he licked it clean, stealing every single grain of rice, every glop of bean paste, every drip of sauce. His fingers, wet and sticky with saliva and nothing else, still carried the eye-rolling aroma of the stuff, embedded beneath dirty fingernails.

It had been a bigger meal than any he had had in Ying Hua, and his belly no longer quaked and growled in protest to its emptiness.

Sighing, grinning, Dian patted his stomach - and let loose a belch loud enough to wake up a sleeping koala sloth.

"...Hey, Skillet. The table ate Pipsqueak's curry. I think it liked it."

"Huh?" Came Skillet's voice. "Hey - where'd the curry go?"

...Oops.

Dian panicked. Oh, he was in so much trouble now! Why - _why_ did he go and steal the food? (Had he already forgotten how much his belly wanted to be full?) Now an older kid knew, and older kids always _told_ on you if you were bad, and Dian didn't want to be bad, he was just - just trying to survive to find Momma again -

He was up and running before he knew it, because running was the only way now, the best thing to do (_liar, running made it worse, it just __proved__ how bad you were being_), shoving through the door, not a door outside, but into a bigger room with tables and more people sitting at them and _run, just run_,just blurs of legs and shoes and a sudden, loud din of voices from behind (_'din' was another one of those big words even though it wasn't that big really_) and then _- _

An older boy appeared in front of him suddenly - too fast for Dian to register anything about him - and they collided, his nose _hurt_ all of a sudden, and he fell back, landed hard on his butt, and before he could realize it he was hanging up in the air, the collar of the maroon rags the Fire Nation tried to pass off as a shirt too tight around his neck.

"Got 'im," the older boy said, frowning and scrutinizing Dian with beady, black eyes. His brow furrowed, and his tan face was framed by raven-black hair pulled into a top-knot. He held fast to the nape of Dian's shirt, holding him effortlessly off the ground. "What have we got here...?"

"Lemme _down_!" Dian howled, lashing out defensively with his tiny legs, strong from all the trees he stood victorious over; he connected with the older boy's ribs, and though it probably hadn't been very hard, it surprised him enough for his grip to slacken, and Dian wriggled out of his shirt, dropping down to the floor and dashing between the older boy's legs.

"Little brat - "

"Sneers, don't _hurt_ him - "

"What's going on?"

" - some kid trying to steal our food - "

Too many _voices_ -

He couldn't outrun those chasing him for long (_didn't need to look back to know he was being chased_), but he could go beneath people, dive under tables and emerge from the other side, and there, finally, the double doors that swung in _and_ out, once he got to the trees they shouldn't be able to find him, he'd just climb them because nobody ever bothered to look in the trees -

The doors swung open before he could even reach them, and standing there, framed by the browns and reds of the trees outside, stood a boy who could easily have been an adult - with a broad face, pale skin, and hair the color of tree bark, framed by a red half-helmet.

Dian stopped short, eyes wide and jaw agape. Had he - was he really _here_ of all places? Could he have come to save him again? Had he...had he _known_ Dian was in trouble, and come back...?

"Mister Giant!" Dian squealed, beaming despite the situation, and the cacophony behind him fell still.

"Er," Mister Giant said, rubbing the back of his head. His beady gaze started at Dian before shifting to whatever laid behind him, hiking his eyebrows. "If this is a bad time, I can always come back. I ain't _that_ hungry."

"No, this is actually a very good time, I think," Skillet said from out of sight, and Dian could hear relief in her voice. "Do you know this boy, Pipsqueak?"

"Yeah, kinda. We saved him from that slave line a couple days ago." Pipsqueak glanced down at Dian again and kneeled down in front of him, resting a broad hand on the boy's bare shoulder. He wore concern on his face like the clothes on his body, and Dian was just - _glad_ to see someone familiar at last. "What're you doin' here, kid? Are you okay?"

"I..." Dian met Pipsqueak's gaze before looking down at the floorboards. "I'm tryin'a find my home. I got hungry, an'...I couldn't find anything outside, but I found this place an' there was this delicious curry on the table, and I just had to eat _something_." He tried to - to stay calm, but his heart, his mind wouldn't agree with him, the events of the past week were finally catching up with him. He felt his brow and cheeks plucking, his lower lip quivering, his eyes stinging - oh, he didn't wanna cry in front of these strangers, but, but it happened _anyway_, sniffling and sobbing and not being brave at _all_, two hot, sticky, wet trails sliding down his cheeks, and...

"Shhh-sh-sh..." Dian glanced upwards, and through his blurred vision, he caught sight of the older girl from the kitchen, Skillet. She had a warm, maternal look on her face, her eyes radiating the same sort of caring and love that - that _Momma's_ did. "It's okay, little one, it's okay...I can always make more curry. Sit down, relax...you're with friends now. Nobody here is going to hurt you. I'll make something warm for you to drink, and after that I'll take you down to the river and help clean you up."

This person - this peaceful woman who reminded him so much of Momma, who had scared him blind just minutes ago - was so caring and eager to help that Dian fell into stunned silence. At last, he turned behind him - saw that many of the room's inhabitants had risen from their seats to either see what the commotion was about or aide Sneers in his capture - pointed at the broad-faced, raven-haired boy, and asked, "Not even him?"

"_Especially_ not him," Skillet promised, and Dian could detect the razor-edge underlying the otherwise comforting words. "Or he'll have to watch out for skunk bear dung in his noodles for the next week. Am I right, Sneers?"

The other boy scowled so deeply it looked as if his jaw would fall right off his face. Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, he grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, sure. Great, my leadership has been usurped on threat of starvation. Brat _kicked_ me."

"C'mon," Pipsqueak said from Dian's shoulder. "Get your shirt back on, an' you can have a seat next to me, kiddo."

A grin sliced Dian's face, and the guilt brought on by misfortune evaporated.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"So - you're _not_ mad that I ate your curry...?"

Pipsqueak heaved a booming laugh. It had infectious qualities to it, and Dian found himself beaming all over again, even if it felt like the walls around him and the bench under his butt shook alongside the giant's raucous guffaws.

"Naw. Ba Sing Se-styled curry is a rare treat, but there'll always be more." The massive man - so much _bigger_ than Dian, it was kind of scary how friendly he could be - buried his spoon into the plate of regular, not-as-special curry sitting in front of him. He regarded Dian with a sideways grin. "'Sides, you needed it more than I did, and Skillet's pleased as punch just to have a new fan."

The chef, sitting opposite Dian at the long, polished-wood table, cocked her head to the side and grinned, her brown pigtails swaying. "And a cute one, at that. Dian, your parents must be proud of you."

"My Momma is _very_ proud of me," he confirmed, nodding and feeling pride swell in his chest. "I need to get back to her as soon as I can. She's worrying, I _know_ it, an' she needs me to take care of her."

"She's ill?" Sneers asked over a steaming bowl of noodles (free of skunk bear dung). Around them, the other kids in the dining hall continued eating, talking - as if, come Pipsqueak's intervention, nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Yeah. I need to get back to my village." Dian glanced down at his own plate of curry - the second one today, still absolutely _yummy_, and he surprised himself with the knowledge that he could eat another whole helping without bursting. It was rich and delectable and even if it lacked Ba Sing Se's spices and flavorings, it still had a unique taste that danced and tumbled across Dian's tongue with every bite. "But I don't know how to get there..."

"You said you came from Ying Hua, right?" Pipsqueak's hand engulfed most of the handle of his spoon, his broad fingers closed tight around the tarnished silverware. He popped a spoonful of curry into his mouth, chewed and swallowed in record time, leaving Dian to blink in awe. "I know that place. I passed through it once a few years back, part of my job as a carpenter in my pop's business. Has really beautiful trees in the spring, right? Pink petals."

"Yeah! That's the place. Do you know how to get back?"

Pipsqueak grimaced, a heavy breath leaving his nose. "It's far away. Past where we met you. I hate to say it, but you've been going in the wrong direction. Get me a compass and I could probably find my way back, but...it's a trip. A few days, easy."

Dian sank, and suddenly the sizzling, delicious curry in front of him lost some of its appeal. Oh, no...it couldn't be, could it? He had - he'd been trying so hard, but he didn't have anything to go by...he knew a lot of fancy words and he could climb any tree you threw at him, but he didn't know the stars and he couldn't survive on his own in the wild. All this time, he'd only been putting _more_ distance between himself and his poor Momma...

"Hey - why don't you take him back, Pipsqueak?" Skillet suggested, eyes going wide. "I think Mortar has a compass from one of the Fire Nation caravans we raided a while back, and Jet's got all those maps in his hut - "

"Absolutely not."

Sneers set his chopsticks down and crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed. Stunned silence fell over the table, but it didn't last long; Pipsqueak snarled and said, "Why is that, Sneers? What's it to you that we actually get one of these kids home? Dian's lucky he's still got someplace left to return to!"

"Yeah, what's the deal?" Skillet's eyes went narrow. "I know you're a cold-hearted jerk, but this kid has a home!"

Dian could only listen, his ears throbbing - heat rising up to them. Was he embarrassed? Yeah, kinda, they were arguing over _him_, and this Sneers guy was already forbidding the boy from the best way he could return to Momma -

"Thanks for the double-team, guys." Sneers closed his eyes and shook his head. "Think what you want, but Pipsqueak is my only able-bodied warrior. Mortar's passable on the battlefield but she doesn't have any formal Earthbending teaching, Pestle's skills are sub-par, and none of the others are really ready to jump into a fight either. Jet may be groggy and bordering on consciousness, but if we needed to take a sudden defensive, I'd need more than myself and two kids flicking pebbles at the enemy."

Pipsqueak lurched, as if ready to rise from the bench, and Dian could see his humongous hands balling up tight - and, in that moment, clarity struck, and the path from Point A (_here_) to Point B (_home_) lay open and apparent, like the sun lazing in the sky after having spent the first half of the day climbing its peak.

"I get it," Dian said, his voice quiet but firm. He placed a hand on Pipsqueak's, marveling at the difference in size in the back corner of his mind. Dian felt something strange overcoming him; a greater sense of being - and...and _peace_ in that knowledge. "I'll do what I can to help."

"Huhwha?" Skillet sputtered on the plate of fruit she'd been nursing, flecks and bits of strawberry dribbling down her chin, pink juice staining her skin. "What are you saying?"

"You guys need help," Dian explained, feeling his throat tighten. This would...put his return off a little bit longer, but it was the right thing to do for these people, who had fed him, offered him shelter, and already agreed that Pipsqueak leading him home was a sound concept and it was just the timing that brought up quandary. Skillet had promised to clean him...and Pipsqueak had expressed interest in letting the boy stay, at least for the interim, because they took in so many orphans from the war. "I can climb trees faster than any other kid in Ying Hua, and I know a lot of words 'n stuff. I could learn to fight. I could help you defend your home in return for your hospitality."

_Hospitality_. That was another one of Old Man Chang's words. One of the more sterile ones, but it worked, it fit like the last piece of a puzzle, and _not_ using it would have put Dian at a loss.

"I..." Pipsqueak affixed Dian with a concerned gaze, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Are you sure, Dian? You're really alright with waiting...? It could take a while."

"Yeah," Skillet leaned forward, a bright, green, circular slice of fruit impaled on her fork, black seeds arranged in a ring around its center and glistening in the dining hall's light. "I mean, we could always get one of the other kids to take you home."

Dian shook his head. "I wanna go with Pipsqueak...I wanna show him my trees an' show my Momma the man who saved me from the Fire Nation." Yes, this was it; there was no denying, no turning away from this truth. He'd have gone with Miss Smellerbee in tow, too, if he could bring her, but it had really been Pipsqueak who had let him get this far. "For that, I think I can wait."

Sneers cocked his head to the side, leaning back in his seat and smirking, his arms still crossed over his broad chest. "Well I'll be damned, this kid is actually pretty smart, for a brat. I think I like you enough to forgive that kick of yours. You got the strength of an expert tree-climber, that's for sure." The older boy rubbed his side, letting a breath whistle past his teeth. "I think I might actually bruise because of you."

"I guess it's settled then, huh?" Pipsqueak said, his baritone voice belying the same kind of childlike joy that Old Man Chang had in his smiles. The giant's mouth curled into a grin. "The Duke of Tree Climbin' is part of the Freedom Fighters now, at least for a little while."

"The Duke...what?" Dian felt his eyebrows shoot up. He knew a lot of words...but 'duke' was a new one, something he hadn't found in the books in Ying Hua.

"A duke is sorta like a king," Pipsqueak said, fixing Dian with a grin with corners that vanished beneath his odd half-helmet. "It's a regional thing and kinda out of use around the world, but I always figured 'duke' had more flash an' style than 'king.' And if you're gonna be a Freedom Fighter, you gotta have a Freedom Fighter name."

"So, The Duke for short," Sneers nodded, giving an approving frown. "Okay, The Duke - Skillet said something about getting you clean, and she has the right idea. You _stink_. Once you've been scrubbed down, come see me. Pipsqueak, you think you can show him the ropes?"

Pipsqueak nodded. "You can count on me."

Sneers finished his noodles with a slurp and a belch, leaving his bowl empty at the table and making for the dining hall/kitchen's exit. When the trio of Freedom Fighters were alone (Dian - The Duke - _beamed_, he was a _Freedom Fighter_, he belonged somewhere, finally - the other kids at home always made fun of him unless he climbed a tree to prove them wrong), Skillet turned her attention to Pipsqueak and said, "Hey, that's pretty impressive. I didn't think you knew much about monarchic history."

Pipsqueak gave a humble, thunderous laugh, placing a hand on his massive belly and closing his eyes. "I only know 'cause my town's senile elder insisted on being called a duke. You hit the bulls-eye, I'm in the dark about that sorta stuff."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

The aroma of burning cinders rose up into the air, accompanied by the wonderful, refreshing scent of fresh air rolling over them. The fires had been extinguished for the night, and the ragtag army slept the night away, oblivious to the time they turned away to refresh themselves with.

The Duke knew he should have been sleeping, too, but thinking about becoming a Freedom Fighter - even if he hadn't known as many words, or climbed as many trees at the time - reminded him of too many painful things. Who this war had taken from him. Jet, Longshot, Smellerbee...Momma. Pipsqueak had told him years ago that the pain of losing someone you love never really goes away, but with time, it would start to hurt less.

For Pipsqueak - who didn't share The Duke's passion for words and science and learning - that statement had depth to it that rocked the younger Freedom Fighter's mind. It held true, too; his friends' deaths in Ba Sing Se no longer made his hands tremble, or cause him to wake up from nightmares about them, drenched in cold sweat. There were other things, _bigger_ things to take into account now, and he had to do his part as a member of the resistance.

Things were going okay, though, he figured, watching the stars glimmer and sparkle overhead. He leaned his head back and sighed through his nose, soaking in the little flecks of silver-white light. They had the eclipse, they had the element of surprise...and he still had his best friend. With Pipsqueak at his side, The Duke felt like everything would be able to go their way.

The Day of Black Sun would fall two weeks from today. And they would win...they _had_ to win. There was no other option, and The Duke would allow no other outcome, for himself, for Pipsqueak and Sneers and Skillet, for Haru and Teo - even if he had to square off against the Fire Lord himself should the Avatar fall.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 2: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-6-2-152806430

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Sometimes, she caught herself wondering if it hurt to die.

Smellerbee imagined it had a lot to do with circumstances - and it did - because every time she tried to latch onto a single notion, the thought would break up into smaller, faster bits, like a self-replicating squirrel-ferret. No matter how much Smellerbee tried to chase one down, others would appear and throw her off her intended path, and she'd just wind up confused and empty-handed. So many possibilities, so many variables, it helped to just think of it on a case-by-case basis.

Jet's death had looked painful. (She hated using such a basic word for it, but she could never really think of a better one. The Duke had always been the one with all the big words.) She could remember the way his clothes were smattered with his own blood, how his abdomen looked shallow and flat. The way his mouth curled down into a shuddering frown, how his eyes squinched tight now and then. But that had been the wound talking, not the - not dying _itself_.

She'd taken plenty of life herself. Swords singing through the air, razor-edge metal parting flesh, drawing splashes of scarlet into the air. Sometimes she got sloppy, and slices meant to steal vitality away didn't always work. But mostly she _didn't_ make those mistakes, because mistakes meant leaving yourself open for counter-attack. When a dagger to the belly expunged the spark of life in seconds, did it hurt then?

Smellerbee thumbed the reeds of Longshot's hat - edges frayed, the dirtied, off-white scraps of rough-hewn fabric the archer would secure into place beneath his chin dangling freely. He'd gotten this one in Ba Sing Se after losing his old one in Lake Laogai...Smellerbee could vaguely remember his disappointment at losing the hat at the moment, but time had been funny and stole away some of her memory from what followed directly after...dying, she supposed. Which was a hell of an irony, because it put her at the opposite end of what she'd wanted to know. She couldn't remember if drowning, if crossing the barrier, had actually been painful or not.

After losing the old hat and replacing it with the new one, the archer had come to love it; it possessed the same vintage appearance and quality that Longshot approved of in headwear, and following their escapades in Omashu, it sported a nice, long split from the brim to the pointed center. The archer had worked diligently in their free time to mend the damage, if only for the sake of longevity; tiny, immaculate stitches had been sewn in with black thread, exercised with the same calm and patience that the archer exhibited in his personality. Smellerbee loved that stitching, because it was just so, so _him_, just as every other part of this hat.

The only flaw she could find in the item was its smell; reedy, yes, but also of city and swamp and fire and mildew (from the water tower). No hint of Hong Ye's beautiful array of aromas that changed seasonally. No syrup, no honey, no cinnamon or hickory. The physical damage was fine, that was just wear and tear, adding to the worn-in love...but without the poignancy of home, it remained incomplete, a non-whole.

Well. That problem would soon resolve itself. The forest was only a few days away, if that. If they pushed themselves, they could make it in two days' time, and with the last two months' events at their backs, she yearned for a familiar sight and a friendly face. If not Sneers', then there were over a dozen other Freedom Fighters who would be glad to see them.

Rain splattered down around her, hissing like a spider-snake as it collided with the scarred, scorched earth at her knees. Her hair matted down to the sides of her head, and she only distantly perceived the throbbing pain in her wrists. This monsoon was the only thing that kept the fire that had sundered this place from spreading - trees and grass bore blackened splotches, branches eaten away by the ravenous tongues of flame. And behind Smellerbee, Surestance and Fletcher heaved concerned croaking noises, as if urging her to move.

But, no. There were more important things than moving right now, like...like Longshot. And his hat. Yeah, moving could wait, really...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_A few minutes ago_

Still - silent. Had to be, because - so _many_ of them, all around, on all sides.

Smellerbee glanced at Longshot, and the archer's shoulders were hunched and tensed. But he kept his face passive, his eyes darting left, right, back, forth. He knew better than to draw his bow, for fear of revealing their position, secreted away in a thicket large enough to obscure them and their mounts, but thin enough for somebody to notice if they got too close. She felt the same way, only - not as calm. She could feel her lips peeling back from her teeth, and the ground trembled beneath her.

Surestance and Fletcher sat low to the ground behind them, even lowering their heads without so much as a word of encouragement from the Freedom Fighters. They made no sound, no whinnies or croaks or nickers; Smellerbee was no longer surprised at just how smart the beasts were. She was sure Fate had nudged the Freedom Fighters to stealing _those two_ ostrich horses of the multitude they could have pilfered instead.

The clattering of armored boots resounded from all about the pair and their steeds, echoing, thunderous as if this were a cave and not a sparse wood. The sky had opened up and pissed rain down around them, the storm of all storms, so thick and heavy that, when Smellerbee caught a glance of herself in the reflection of a puddle, her water-resistant war paint had smeared and began running in crimson rivulets down her cheeks. The rain drops pelted the pair of Freedom Fighters in cold and hard spikes, even for a midsummer's storm, and her wrists _burned_, almost as if - as if they'd been lit on fire.

(Ironic, huh?)

The storm's rage reduced visibility to that of pea soup; she could see Longshot well enough and could make out the brown-gray lumps that were their steeds behind them, but anything farther than that had been swallowed up by a cloudy bog of swirling mist. Lying flat on her stomach with Fire Nation soldiers tromping past all around them, this served as a blessing in hiding their position from the enemy - and a curse, because she had to rely on her skewed hearing to try and pinpoint the proximity of anyone who wandered too close.

Between the hissing rain and the clatter of Fire Nation armor, she occasionally heard a low noise that was a mix between a snuffle and a grunt; she hadn't heard it often in her lifetime, but Jet had insisted on teaching them the sound anyway, as a precaution. The enemy marched with komodo rhinos, their footsteps heavier in the slick mud than their riders and owners. They clomped and sloughed and slurped their way through the muck, at least six of the monsters and more to come, and Smellerbee shivered as droplets of water squirmed down her neck, under her clothes.

She really, _really_ wanted to be miserable, soaked to the bone, little branches jabbing her face, arms, sides, but the air was too thick with tension to afford that; trading that for being cheesed off would mean she'd let her guard down, and - and she couldn't do that. Even with visibility down and audibility hampered, they could be found out by one person, the wrong soldier, drawing too close and tripping over them.

At last, Longshot's eyes flickered over to his friend and leader; he couldn't see them any better than he suspected _she_ could (and he was right in thinking that, because she couldn't make out even a darker patch of gray against the fog that swallowed them all up). What...what was she thinking? What should they do? What _could_ they do? The rain wasn't so hard to endure, but they had no idea how long this marching order would be. What if the storm didn't outlast the Fire Nation? Skinny, thinly-spaced trees wouldn't provide enough cover for all four of them.

Smellerbee felt her brow furrow. "I know," she whispered, keeping her voice as low as she could without being inaudible. "I'm thinking."

He nodded, his eyebrows low over his eyes. He trusted her to get them both out of this. His hat protected rain from splattering his face directly, but when the drops hit the ground, they still reached up and splashed him, giving his porcelain cheeks and chin a glistening quality - as if he'd just emerged from a swim in the lake. Water trickled down the brim of his hat, slipping to the ground and the back of his tunic.

What's the plan, then...? With the enemy heading the opposite way the Freedom Fighters had been traveling, they could keep going forward and hope their little glade would continue to divide the Fire Nation troops and the marching order would come to an end - but that brought on a _lot_ of risk. Smellerbee had no idea how much further the glade continued on, or how many troops there were; she wasn't the military buff Skillet or Sneers were, but this was at least a company's worth of soldiers, if not more. Moving that many troops in this weather could take days - and she, Longshot and the ostrich horses couldn't camp out here that long. Too many outlying factors to be a reliable solution.

What else...? A more dangerous option presented itself in sneaking closer to the enemy and dragging one of them back into the mists; kill them strip them of their armor, then blend in with the enemy to bide time, at least. But you'd need to cover their mouths to prevent them from shouting _and_ pin their arms to keep them from Firebending, all the while hoping they didn't know how to use their feet to make the stuff - it didn't matter that the rain dampened their power, because even through _this_ murk the flashes of sizzling orange would be visible to those nearby. Challenging, certainly, but doable if nothing better presented itself. Smellerbee blew a breath through her nose that was half-shiver. She'd rather try something else...and there had to _be_ something else, didn't there? All she had to do was think of - of the right angle, and...

...Hmm.

"Staying around here is bad," She whispered to Longshot, casting a glance back to their poor, drenched ostrich horses. "We can't go forward and we can't go back. Our best bet is to hop on Surestance and Fletcher and haul ass out the sides. We'll diverge a little from our planned course, but if we keep our heads down and avoid eating a fireball sandwich, we'll be alright. The weather's gonna keep us concealed and weaken their Firebending enough for us to get through. It's blunt, but it'll work."

Longshot nodded and pointed to their left. He almost sure there were less troops on that side; the rain fudged even _his_ acute hearing and made it hard to tell, but he'd rather chance it. (As if to prove his point, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the near distance, followed by a low roll of thunder.) She nodded in agreement before pushing away from the drenched, muddy ground and rising into a crouch. The front of her tunic and her leather chest piece were sopping wet and glistening with the stuff, and her skin felt like it had been set against a big block of ice. Scowling, she let a _little_ anger in now that she had a plan - not too much, though, just enough so that she'd be able to endure the coming rush with a fire in her heart.

The pair of Freedom Fighters crouch-walked to their mounts. They moved slowly and cautiously, but if anybody saw them, no shouting or Firebending could be heard and the surprise would be on _their_ heads instead. But that didn't matter. Once she reached Surestance, she lifted one leg and clambered onto his saddle, still keeping her body low; she reached for one of Jet's swords with her right hand, tightening her grip on the beast's reins with the left. She glanced over to Longshot, making sure he was ready to go; aside from Fletcher's reins, his hands were empty, and when she hiked a questioning eyebrow at him he shrugged. If they were going to do this right, he'd be better unarmed. Using a bow and arrow required both hands, and he wasn't confident enough in his ostrich horseback archery to attempt that stunt in weather like this.

That was fair enough, she figured, and nodded at him in return.

Okay.

Well, no better time to do it, really. Taking a deep breath, Smellerbee pressed her heels into Surestance's side, and the ostrich horse rose dutifully. With him and Fletcher at the ready, the swordswoman snapped the reins and expelled a sharp "YAH!" that urged the beast into motion.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Rain tore at them relentlessly, the wind howling and the lightning increasing in intensity and frequency. The first line of soldiers marched not a few feet beyond the Freedom Fighters' hiding spot, and when their ostrich horses erupted from the brush and splattered water everywhere, so many heads turned in their direction - so many faces with wide eyes and mouths curled into circles of shock - that any doubts Smellerbee had of the element of surprise were vanquished. Fletcher pulled ahead of Surestance, and Smellerbee swung Jet's sword down and around, hooking one Fire Nation troop by the neck; pulled along by Surestance's momentum, it only took a swift tug to separate the man's head from his shoulders, a flickering spray of sparks jittering from his fingertips, and then - gone, swallowed up by his peers, moving too fast to tell anything else.

Longshot kept his head down and his elbows back, lashing Fletcher occasionally to squeeze more speed from her. Smellerbee cursed; she was falling too far behind. Maybe the temptation of inflicting any sort of damage had been too great in the end; mimicking Longshot's pose as best she could, she pressed her knees into Surestance's haunches and flicked his reins. She felt the wind raking its clawed fingers through her hair, the rain plastering her face, blurring her vision, but - couldn't look away, had to keep her eyes open, or else she'd get caught up by the throng of soldiers on both sides.

Fire struck the air ahead, behind, the bursts weak and dissolving, little more than thin flickers of orange in the storm, but it was enough to alert the troops' comrades of incoming trouble. In a matter of seconds, Smellerbee could see glaives and maces coming to bear nearby, threatening to strike her, to take Surestance out at the knees or impale his rider. Snarling, she wouldn't - _couldn't_ - let it happen, that'd mean being swarmed, overtaken by ant-like soldiers with a hive-mind permanently set to 'destroy everything' mode. She lashed Surestance with the reins again, steering him beside, then around Longshot, the archer only casting a flittering gaze to her before returning his attention to the slurry of enemy troops and storms ahead of them.

Swinging Jet's sword in tight, circular arcs, the swordswoman deflected incoming blows; each connection sent the sound of metal colliding with metal ringing up into the gray sky, made her bones jostle and joints ache, her fingertips ringing and numb and her wrists on _fire_. A glaive broke past her defenses, nicked her shin - she yelped and grit her teeth and continued to charge onward. It was a small wound and it could be attended to _later_.

The storm had their foes more disorganized than Smellerbee had anticipated, and as Surestance hurtled against that which the typhoon threw at them, a thought occurred to the Freedom Fighter: caught off-guard, these troops had likely succumbed to the misery Smellerbee had worked so hard to stave off. The cold seeping under and between the chinks in their armor, the weary sensation resting under their eyes that would make them dry and heavy, their limbs refusing to cooperate. All things working to the Freedom Fighters' advantage, yes, but with so many troops in the way and no end in sight, the likelihood of the _one_ soldier having their senses about them crossing paths with the pair increased the further in they delved.

It was really only a matter of time before -

- sudden flare from the side, Surestance heaved a hoarse croak of protest -

- Longshot and Fletcher beside them, pushing them -

- and from behind, an explosion that was _not_ the thunder, a flash of light that was _not_ lightning, a rush of hot air that plowed across her back and the nape of her neck, and her ears rung. What the hell - ?

"MOVE!" She shouted, even though it didn't really need saying; the ostrich horses, sensing her desperation, lowered their heads to reduce air resistance. That one person had found them, and -

- a glimmer of silver, barely perceivable through the thick coating of rain -

Smellerbee reacted instinctively, leaping free from Surestance's saddle and flipping in the air. The chain, with a barbell at the end, lashed out and collided with a nearby tree, so heavy and hard that it shattered the wood, making it erupt in a spray of splinters. She landed on the ground, rolling and pushed back up into a crouch; Jet's second sword was in her hand before she could register, the hand grips still too big but feeling more _natural_ as time progressed.

Heavy, thundering footsteps drew nearer. Not those of the ostrich horses, she already couldn't see them, they had been swallowed by the storm and Longshot along with them, but a beast much heavier and with more feet. Komodo rhinos, at least four of the monsters if not more. She could make out a few of them through the murk, hulking, gray silhouettes lurking just out of sight, hiding behind their cover.

"Looks like we got ourselves a winner," one voice - gruff, haggard - called out from the depths of that swirling mist. "Crimson-Faced Smellerbee, wanted by her highness Princess Azula."

"Are you sure, Mongke? This scrawny little thing?" Another voice lilted, lacking the same battlefield-tried qualities of Mongke's. "Doesn't look too dangerous to me."

"Because you can't see her properly through that helmet of yours, smartass," came a third voice. As this one spoke, the chain that had impacted on the tree withdrew, slithering back into the fog like a scalded snake roach. "You're too far away to notice how she's poised. Like a pissed off wildcat, she is."

"That's right," Smellerbee agreed, hunching down and crossing Jet's swords in front of her. She felt her lips peeling away from her teeth to reveal something that felt like a smile, but lacked its affable qualities - instead replaced by fury that she hoped would intimidate these mystery assailants. She hated the thought of being separated from Longshot here, now, but - well, one fight at a time. If she could take on Mai by herself... "Now, which one of you clowns wants to go first?"

"Sorry, I'm really not in the mood for banter," said Mongke, and from the depths of the hissing gray void, a swirl of orange formed and rushed outward, his fire too _strong_ to be dampened by the rain. Smellerbee rolled to the side and dove, the fire wall blistering and singeing her hair, her back; scrambling through the mud, hauling herself by her forearms and kicking her legs to accelerate, the Freedom Fighter saw another ball of flame incoming – but not aimed right at her. Mongke couldn't see her pressed into the ground –

Two smaller flares sparked to life from further back. As Mongke's attack soared past where Smellerbee had been, exploding in a splash of fire against a grove of trees, Smellerbee got a much more dire sense of dread from the two tinier ones. A bigger fire didn't necessarily make it more dangerous; smaller fire sometimes implied greater control, and whoever held the vertically aligned, glistening sparks could most likely _see_ the swordswoman even in this horrendous visibility.

A familiar sound from that direction - but lower, the twang of a longbow being released - twin whistling sounds - couldn't move, not enough _time_ -

She saw a second pair of arrows launch through the air from an angle, intercepting the pair shot from the Fire Nation archer in mid-flight. The second set of arrows knocked the first - heads still glittering with flame - off their flight path, and Smellerbee saw Longshot land in a crouch a few yards away, barely visible in the mire. He glanced at her briefly, making sure she was okay, before nocking another arrow and firing it into the storm, yielding a snarling scream from beyond the veil. Smellerbee felt more than heard the charging, clawed feet of a righteously _ticked off_ komodo rhino rampaging her way - the mud quivering beneath her hands and knees - and she scrambled up with her heart thundering in her chest, her breath tight, her pulse trembling in her throat -

_Link Jet's swords together!_

She hooked one of Jet's swords into the other and leapt, whirling them over her head; the hand guard of the extended blade caught into a branch hanging above, and using her momentum, Smellerbee swung up, around, grabbing the sword as she passed it, yanking it free. Flipping, she landed in a crouch on the tree branch, heard a scream from behind - instinctively, she back flipped away just as the komodo rhino plowed into the tree, shattering its trunk, sending its rider splattering into the mud. Smellerbee caught a glistening, sinewy strand laying about and around him as she landed - the chain with the weighted flail at the end. One down, at least three left to go -

Whirling around to face their assailants, Smellerbee crouched down low and charged straight at where she thought she could hear another one of the rhinos. Longshot swerved in the opposite direction behind her, nocking yet another arrow and releasing - this time, colliding with another one of the flame-lit arrows from the archer in the fog.

"Cover me!" She called, pinwheeling Jet's swords about her. Another fireball rushed at her, and she leapt, tucking her feet up; she landed, rolled, and found herself next to a massive, clawed foot, three-toed and grey-skinned six times the size of her own hand. A quick glance up yielded a mustachioed man in custom Fire Nation armor, bald save for a ratty topknot that drooped in the rain, a nose ring looped through his nostrils. With his arms and most of his chest exposed, it wasn't hard to see how his muscles rippled and skin gleamed, especially at this proximity - and the blue komodo rhino tattoo on his shoulder seemed to glow in the rain.

For a moment, Smellerbee felt as if time had paused - she had never met this man personally, his yellow, hateful gaze glaring down at her from his mounted position, his arm drawing back over his head with his fingers splayed. But she knew who he was, because - because Jet had spoken about him, about the superior band of Fire Nation soldiers calling themselves the Rough Rhinos, and how _they_ had been the ones to raze his town - kill his family - leave him with nothing but a name that no longer applied. Typical to Jet's nature, he always mentioned them out of hatred - and only when he was drunk or infuriated (if not both), only when he lost the cool facade he kept up.

(_Revenge at last_)

Smellerbee had to quash her younger self, because this was not a time for exacting revenge, it was a moot point, Jet was dead, and the only reason Smellerbee had to hurt the Rough Rhinos was to ensure survival, self-defense, nothing more -

She delivered an upward slash with the left sword, time still moving in slow-motion. Fire licked the soldier's fingers (was this Mongke? Probably, she'd feel safe sticking to that assumption) but his eyes went wide as he saw the slash coming for his side; the fire dissipated as he brought his opposite hand up, blocking the sword slash with his gauntlet. A shower of sparks exploded into the air as metal clashed with metal, and time sped up again; Smellerbee darted Jet's second sword in, looped Mongke around his other gauntlet and pulled. He didn't come free from his stirrups as she'd hoped - but the blade slipped from the gauntlet and bit into his wrist, causing the man to howl in pain. He tried maneuvering his guarding hand around - maybe to grab the sword, or to gain an opening for attack, Smellerbee didn't know or much care. She twisted the blade caught in his wrist and pulled again, a healthy spray of blood erupting, like a geyser - she must have severed a vein, and at last Mongke freed the nearest foot from his stirrup in a weak attempt to kick Smellerbee off. She leapt back, freeing Jet's swords, and swung again, trying to hook Mongke's ankle -

An arrow whizzed past her nose, close enough for her to feel its slipstream - not on fire, heading _away_ from Longshot - enough to surprise her, and she stumbled backwards, lost her balance, and fell back into the mud. She landed hard enough for Jet's swords to bounce out of her grip. But - but can't stop moving now, have to keep on keeping on or else the Rough Rhinos would find their opening, she didn't bother looking for Jet's swords in the storm, she just reached for her dagger and hurled herself at Mongke -

- he kicked at her again, but this time fire erupted from his heel, she couldn't dodge, there wasn't enough _time_ -

Her armor took the brunt of the hit but it was _hot hot hot_ her chin and arms and waist seethed, and the world flip-flopped around her and there were leaves and trees and Longshot so close so suddenly her ears ringing his eyes wide and mouth working, he - he was calling her _name_, she could see it but there wasn't any sound -

_(hadn't said her name out loud since he gave it to her)_

And she wanted to shout, _No, you dummy, don't worry about me, protect your own ass,_ but she couldn't, the words fizzled and died somewhere between her brain and her mouth. She wasn't hurt, she didn't think, just - just stunned, she'd be okay -

He was so concerned for her - running to her side now - that he didn't pay attention to the archer in the fog, and as suddenly as Smellerbee's world had inverted itself, so had Longshot; his face and body contorted, his mouth curling into that - that big, round "**O**", just like the girl in the mines. One of the arrows - one of the _enemy _arrows! - stuck out from his side, the clothes around the shaft sparking and flaring, but the rain put the fire out for the most part -

Smellerbee felt herself becoming right again, and she yelled - she could, she even heard herself a bit - she scrambled, clawed her way to her feet. "_LONGSHOT!_" But the archer began to fall and spin, and another arrow took him in the gut - and he impacted flat in the mud, shock already on his face, his hat knocked clear off his head, his eyes wide and distant -

_oh no oh no oh __no_

She howled, screaming his name again - they had faced off against the Fire Princess and her friends together, they had survived Lake Laogai together, they couldn't be separated here, _now_, so close to home! -

She saw something pierce the fog, but it wasn't an arrow - it was big and red and lumpy and almost sorta shaped like a brick...a wick at one end, arcing through the air, and the wick had been cut so short - giving off a spray of sparks as it soared -

It landed between herself and Longshot, half-buried in the mud - and for a second, Smellerbee hesitated, glaring at it, as if it had done her a personal injustice. She felt herself moving again, legs slow and heavy, arms aching, stomach twisted in on itself - she grabbed the bomb, because that's what it was, it _was_ a bomb, and she hurled it with as much strength as she could muster back at the Rough Rhinos

_wasn't enough_

it exploded, too close, and the world erupted in a spray of colors, a cacophony of ringing sounds deeply rooted in her ears, and trees and leaves and ground and and and _Longshot_ -

- nothingness -

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Croaking. She felt a - something hard pushing against her cheek - nudging her head. Groaning, Smellerbee gradually opened her eyes; she could still feel the rain smattering her body, hear it hissing through the woods, but much lighter. Her cheeks had gone numb from cold, and Surestance's head occupied most of her vision, his great, wide eyes glittering - concerned? The beasts _were_ remarkably smart, after all...

Sitting up, Smellerbee reached for her knife - but the sheath was empty, she'd lost it when blasted by Mongke's fire ball. Maybe it was still on the battlefield, maybe it could be salvaged -

- how far had she been thrown? She clambered to her feet and began stumbling the way her feet had been pointing. _Must'a_ been that way, right? Head buzzing, she felt urgency tugging at her from behind the navel. Mud caked her entire body, front, back, legs, arms, stuck in her hair, even the rain couldn't wash it out, why was - why was it so important to get back to the scene of the fight? Longshot would be able to fend for himself -

_- Longshot_ -

- and she ran, eyes stinging, nausea mingling with disorientation, she remembered seeing Longshot's face in her mind - (_no, no, no, no, can't be left alone_) - falling, hurt, because of - of _her_ -

She emerged in a clearing and felt herself slow to a gradual stop. Visibility had improved drastically since - since before, so she cold see the exact damage from the fight. Because this was where the fight _had_ to have happened, hadn't it? Blood spattered what green was apparent, several trees had been twisted and distorted from collisions and explosions, more had been burnt from Mongke's fireball, and -

- a smear of tan amongst the brown -

Smellerbee wandered over to Longshot's hat and picked it up.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

No bodies.

Smellerbee couldn't - that didn't _help_ - didn't help _anything_. The Fire Nation rarely bothered to take enemy corpses with them, due to rules of military conduct. But - but the Rough Rhinos operated outside standard procedure, and with the Fire Lord's blessing at that because they were _good_ at what they did. Of _course_ they would have taken Longshot, because of the bounties on their heads. They'd collect.

It didn't tell Smellerbee if Longshot had survived or not. He wouldn't have been able to struggle with an arrow in the belly and - and -

- and she'd _overflow_ if she didn't find some way to contain it -

(_Enough! Just move on, don't stand here like a lost little girl!_)

"But without Longshot why should - " Smellerbee heard herself asking. Her head had not stopped buzzing, and - and she couldn't figure out what to do next, her chest just _hurt_, there was so much pressure building up inside -

(_There's still a chance he's alive! All you can do is find out!_)

"He'll be so _angry_ that I let myself get hurt - that I got _him_ hurt!" She protested, though she wasn't sure to who.

(_You're supposed to be different! You're a go-getter and a leader! Don't get all weepy, because you're still a Freedom Fighter!_)

She felt like crying. It was so tempting to deny her rampant thoughts, the ferocious voice clawing away inside her, to say - to say, _no! Not without Longshot, without Longshot I'm nothing!_, but her mind struggled - because it wasn't true and she _knew_ it, and...and there were things she could be _without_ Longshot. And if she couldn't be a whole with him - captured, or - or, dead -

- on her hands and knees suddenly, heaving - sobbing and vomiting all at once, no, not _Longshot_! Longshot couldn't be gone, not after everything they had gone through together! She hiccupped, stopped retching, sniveled, and felt another wave of nausea washing over her. Revile took her, and and and there was _nothing_ without Longshot -

(_Liar. There's __always__ something._)

"No," she moaned. She knew she was being pathetic but - after Jet, how could she take this? She was - she was _overflowing_, she was overflowing and there wasn't anything that'd be able to stop her, she'd just keep flowing and flowing and wouldn't stop because she'd become a boiling pot of nothing but emotions and she'd wither up and die before -

(_The hat. The hat, you idiot! Do with the hat that you do with the swords!_)

(_If you don't have Longshot, you have to rely on something that was there __before__ Longshot. What were you before you met him?_)

"A - a miner brat. A slave." She hiccupped again, her mouth tasting foul, her sinuses burning from the acid. "Nothing. Nameless."

(_What __were__ you?_)

Smellerbee's breath hitched. "A - a fighter."

(_That's right. You strove, no matter what the circumstances. You would always rise up in the face of adversity and spit in its face. You are ferocious, you are bestial, and you are a killer! You are a __warrior__, and you're alone in the middle of a war. You have to continue on. A world is __depending__ on you! Do what you gotta do until the planet is safe. Then, and __only__ then, can you overflow.)_

"...A warrior." Smellerbee glanced down to the hat clutched in her left hand, feeling the reeds beneath her fingertips. "Yeah. That's right."

Clambering to her feet, Smellerbee evaluated the empty battlefield, scoping it out - looking for the telltale glimmers in the mud that would expose the position of her weapons. It took some time - she found Jet's swords first, hidden by a small grove, and then the knife some minutes later half-obscured by a bush. Re-equipping herself, she returned to Surestance's saddle and burrowed into her belongings; plunging her hand into the depths of her possessions, she reached for the familiar satchel containing her crimson war-paint, feeling for the leather with her fingertips. Hiding in the center of her bedroll, she withdrew it, opened it, and dipped the first two fingers of her left hand in, smearing her fingertips with the stuff.

She had done this so often within her lifetime that she needed no mirror to know where the stripes went; her hand moved automatically, with ritualistic familiarity, starting at her cheekbones and pulled down to her jaw line. She dipped her fingers in again and repeated the motion on the opposite side of her face - refreshing the lines that had been rubbed out by the rain. Her signature, her nickname. The Fire Nation had done so much to her in her lifetime - they had taken her family, her voice, the Freedom Fighters, the Avatar...Jet, Longshot. They would come to know and _fear_ Crimson-Faced Smellerbee, because she was a warrior if nothing else.

One last thing, then.

She had set Longshot's hat on Surestance's saddle horn. Pulling the drawstring on her face paint pouch tight, she buried it back into her bedroll and rubbed her fingertips on her pants leg - unceremonious and unladylike, yes, but she didn't care. She reached over for the hat, lifted it up above her - stared at it against the backdrop of gray branches, green leaves and dark sky. Yes...they would come to know Smellerbee's name.

She put the hat on and tied the cloth strings beneath her chin, as she had seen Longshot do so many times. Glaring up at the sky, she said, "Yes. I am a warrior...let the battle be joined."

She climbed onto Surestance and whistled for Fletcher to fall into stride beside her. Regaining her bearings, Smellerbee led the ostrich horses towards Hong Ye Forest.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Some time later_

"Here you go, you motherless son of a goat weasel." The guard said, his voice deep and sneering and egocentric – that of a man who had power over those he had been tasked in containing and _knew_ it. "One custom-tailored cell, complete with all the furnishings a rebellious loser could desire. One cot, one bedpan, and one cellmate."

And then, the hands holding Longshot upright vanished, and his stomach howled in screaming protest – he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He stumbled forward, balance already compromised – and then the heel of the guard's boot found his back, sending him careening into the cold metal floor of his new home. He curled up instinctively, wrapping his arms around his abdomen and pulling his legs up to his chest.

The guard laughed, a derisive, scathing sound that scraped Longshot's ears. "So, this is what the infamous Hawkeye has been reduced to. You're fortunate Princess Azula is going to be occupied in the coming month, or else she'd come to take care of you personally. She's developed something of a fascination for you, if what the rumors say are true."

The archer squinched his eyes shut. He wished the guard would just _shut up_. He prided himself on being such a good listener, especially to his friends, but the guard was not a friend, nor were his words doing anybody any sort of good. It was taking all his willpower to keep the flaring pain in his side and belly from eating away at him, gnawing with little, poison-coated fangs.

The floor was cold against his shoulder and leg, even through the orange prison clothes they had given him. His blue tunic, his mantle, his hat – all gone, stripped of him by his captors. He hated it. Felt like his identity had been torn right from his fingers, leaving him with – with nothing, really. Not even his bow or arrows.

The trip to this prison had been wrought with fever dreams and hallucinations; Longshot couldn't remember most of it, just little fractions of parts – lost to blurred colors and muffled noises that didn't make any kind of coherent sense. He didn't know how he'd survived being gut-shot by a flaming arrow (he remembered _that_ much), but the wooden shafts had been removed, leaving him with just screaming agony and a teeth-clenching desire to rip open his skin just to let the pain bleed _out_.

The guard must have finished taunting the archer, because the next sound he recognized was that of a heavy, metal door slamming shut in its frame, the hinges squealing; he winced, scowled, and gradually opened his eyes. He had not seen Smellerbee since waking up, and because of his memory being funny with sickness, he didn't know if she had been – been taken like he had. And it her gender wasn't a mystery anymore – she could take care of herself, certainly, but her specialty didn't lie in unarmed combat. She could throw a good punch and a solid kick where needed, but without a weapon at hand…

No, it's easier to just not worry about it. Smellerbee would be okay, wherever she was. She'd teach any guard with wandering hands how the world worked.

"Hey, you okay, guy?" A voice lilted from behind the archer. "Looks like you seen better days."

Longshot drew a shuddering breath. A cellmate – the guard _had_ mentioned something along those lines, hadn't he? A dozen stereotypes flickered through his mind at once, and he felt an icy, slick sensation slither down his throat (because stereotypes existed for a reason). For one moment – and later, he would admit to himself how utterly silly it was to think _this _thought in particular - he doubted his new friend would be kind enough to let slide the old press-your-hand-to-your-throat-and-fake-mute technique.

Still – he grunted, worked, struggled – tried to get into a sitting position, to look at his bunkmate, only for the pain to flare up again, and he collapsed back to the ground, hissing and snarling.

"Whoa, easy," the voice said, and Longshot could make out the sound of shuffling footsteps over the wicked agony in his belly. "You really _are _bad off, aren'tcha? Just hang tight, pal. Rec time is coming up in a couple hours, and I know a Waterbender who can heal you right up."

Longshot felt a hand on his shoulder, saw the face of his cellmate swim into view – and their eyes went wide at the same time.

He _knew_ that face.

"Longshot?" Spatula whispered, color draining from his cheeks. They used to be – so much _rounder_, Longshot remembered, from so long ago. He wasn't so cherubic anymore, he looked more – angular, lean, toughened. "Longshot, what are you _doing_ here?"

Spatula. One of the Freedom Fighters' cooks, one hell of a nice guy…Fire Nation, a Firebender, and a man who was supposed to have died almost three years ago for that deception.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 3: Spatula, Part 5: I get by with a little help from my friends**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-6-3-153641281

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Oooh, Longshot wasn't happy to see him, was he? Spatula could see it on the archer's face - the way his eyes narrowed, his mouth curled into a barely noticeable frown. Spatula swallowed, felt a jitter run through his stomach, and hesitated. What was the right thing to do in this situation? Longshot would _know_ he was a Firebender, all of the Freedom Fighters probably did at this point, but it wasn't like Spatula had ever meant to actually, you know, _hurt_ anybody.

He couldn't just - just turn his back on his old teammate, though, even if the truth reared back and bared its fangs. Even if they had parted on less than friendly terms and the archer assumed Spatula to be dead, like Smellerbee had promised.

He wormed an arm under Longshot's shoulder, the cold metal floor of the cell rough and ragged on the back of his fingers. Pulling him upright and slinging his arm over his shoulder, Spatula lead him over to one of the rickety cots the Fire Nation gave to its prisoners - built into the wall with no legs below. Rigid, metal things that gave no support to the back and made waking up an ordeal, joints and muscles screaming in protest. It made him miss sleeping on the dingy mats the Freedom Fighters had that doubled for beds; while no more comfortable, at least you knew you were waking up sore with a day of doing good ahead of you. Here, you didn't get that benefit...in this place, all you could do was wake up and look forward to another day of cooking food for the kind of people who had made Spatula defect in the first place to keep from being a punching bag (or worse).

Something wasn't right about this scenario. Sitting down beside the Freedom Fighter, Spatula tried to piece together what was really going on that didn't fit. Like - why would Longshot, of all people, wind up here, on Pan Xing Island? This place was a step below Boiling Rock so far as Fire Nation prisons were concerned, and third in line as the most secure overall. You had to have a pretty big name for yourself in order to get sentenced here, and the last Spatula had heard, the Freedom Fighters weren't exactly a major threat to the Fire Nation's operations.

Second...Longshot was more...what was the word? His face. He did more with it - more _expressive_, that's it. Spatula had always struggled so much to read the Freedom Fighter because of his nonvocal nature, even though Smellerbee and the rest hadn't had a problem. Longshot had made it harder by not showing much expression, keeping his face a blank slate at all times - especially when Spatula tried talking to him. Those always lead to awkward, one-sided conversations that, ironically, left Spatula feeling left out. In a similar situation three years ago, Longshot wouldn't'a even shown the tiniest hint of disgust. Maybe it was whatever had injured him, and just keeping it all to himself was taking up his willpower...but Spatula doubted it, and shook his head with a frown on his face.

"I - I guess it's a surprise to see me here," he mumbled, casting a glance at Longshot before looking away. He saw the mute's chocolate brown eyes digging into him - felt it, when he broke eye contact. "You thought I was dead."

Motion from his peripheral vision - Longshot, nodding. Spatula drew a deep breath, the jittering in his stomach continuing to flip-flop. "Look, it's...it's kind of a long story. I can explain it to you if you'll hear me out. But - but please, believe me - it wasn't Smellerbee's fault. Okay?"

His new cellmate said nothing, and Spatula felt heat rising up into his face. "I know you're probably thinking something like, 'you don't have any right to accuse Smellerbee of anything,' but - I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone and it's really _my_ mistake that got me into that mess, and - "

Longshot held up a hand, cutting Spatula off; the latter glanced up again at the former, who pantomimed suffering from a headache by massaging his sinuses. Can he _please_ hurry it up? The heat in Spatula's cheeks grew warmer as embarrassment set in. He wasn't earning any points, and this could - could be a second chance at redemption -

Wait. Had he - had he understood Longshot? Something had flitted through his mind, like a fleeting thought that hadn't been his own. No, it couldn't be...

Nodding, Spatula lowered his head and clasped his hands together between his knees. "Okay. Like I said, rec time is coming up soon and there's a Waterbender here who'll heal your wounds if you give him some of your day's water rations." He sighed. "Before I start - where are the others? Are they okay?"

Longshot's shoulders slumped and closed his eyes.

"...that bad, huh?"

The archer nodded, followed by a half-hearted shrug that made him wince.

"Are they all...you know..." Spatula felt the words catching in his throat, as if saying it - as if just vocalizing the word _dead_ would make it real, finalize it, actualize it.

Longshot shrugged again. He didn't know.

Great. A dull ache grew in his chest - one Spatula was familiar with. He wasn't used to his vision blurring like this when - whenever he thought of how wonderful the entire group of Freedom Fighters had been -

_No. Calm._

Drawing slow, steady breaths, Spatula shook his head again and said, "Well. I'll just...get on with my story, huh?"

Longshot gave him a dismissive wave of the hand - either he didn't care, or he was giving permission to go ahead. Unsure of how to go about reading that, Spatula stuttered and stumbled into the tale he had to weave. Longshot deserved _some_ answers, anyway.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three years ago_

Smellerbee limped as they sprinted, and around the curvature of his profile – the nub that served as his nose and his puffy, upper lip – Sheng could see the rough, discolored lumps swelling up from the beating the younger boy had endured a few days ago. (He still looked a little fubar, but his color had started returning to his face, and he'd managed to pry himself away from Sheng, stumbling along without his support - hopefully this strange Earth Kingdom kid would get nothing worse than a cold.) Despite that, despite how sick he'd become, this kid didn't even look _winded_, even though he'd just manufactured a genius escape from captivity and had been leading Sheng through a pissing typhoon of a storm for the better part of a half hour.

Sheng, meanwhile, didn't feel so fleet-footed; his side cramped and his lungs burned and his muscles just wanted to _stop_ but it wasn't his place to give up here-and-now. He'd chosen to abandon his nation to stick with this crazy boy, and in doing so, he'd allowed him to set the pace.

That was okay, he figured. He didn't have the stuff it took to be a leader, that was why he'd never made it past corporal in the army. Still, a rest _would_ be nice…he drew a deep breath. No more cowardly Corporal Sheng – time to strengthen your resolve and act like, you know, an adult. Just don't phrase it in a way that makes it sound like you're whining, because then the Freedom Fighter might think you were – well – whining.

"How much farther d'you think we should go?" He hazarded, lowering his head. His breath hitched out of exhaustion, and he winced – Smellerbee heard it, he knew he had, and for a nigh-paralyzing moment, he feared the younger boy would be able to read his true intentions and call him out on it.

No such thing; Smellerbee narrowed his good eye and seemed to take Sheng's question into genuine consideration. "I slashed Ke with his sword in the fight. Assuming he's still alive, by now he knows we've escaped and freed the slaves. He might be an egomaniac, but he's not dumb. The storm'll throw them off our trail for a little bit, but if your camp had any good trackers or hunters, it won't buy us enough time for a rest."

Sheng took the cue and nodded. "We relied more on compass work, star charts, and t-rats."

"T-rats?"

"'Tray-pack field rations.' Disgusting stuff."

"Ah. Then…the sun looked like it was just a little after midday before the storm set in." Smellerbee's strides slowed to a gradual stop, and Sheng's entire body could have sang praises in response. The ex-soldier doubled over, panting, his body sweltering with heat from his stuffy armor. "So long as the storm keeps up, we'll be okay – and it don't feel like it's gonna clear up any time soon."

"'Feel like it?'" Sheng echoed, craning his neck to look at Smellerbee. When the ex-soldier stooped like this, the Freedom Fighter stood as the taller of the two, planting his fists on his hips. "Whaddaya mean by that?"

"My wrists break out when it rains like this," the boy explained, waving a dismissive hand up at the sky. "I can tell when a storm's about to stop when the burning turns into more of a tingling sorta deal and hurts less."

"Right, how silly of me." Sheng shook his head and grimaced. He glanced around; nothing but plains visible in all directions, the garrison so far behind them that it had been swallowed up by the gently rolling horizon. Dark green grass soaked up the rain, almost humming in its splendor, and patches of dirt had shifted from tan to murky brown. The rain made a rhythmic, hypnotizing pattering sound on his helmet. Given the break, he started to realize how _tired_ he was…it'd been an eventful day, and the desire to just curl up and sleep was a very tempting one.

Maybe some fresh air would do him good.

He reached up and pulled away his helmet, letting his charcoal-black hair fall free; a cool breeze pushed by, running its wispy fingers through his shortened locks. Oh, he could feel it on his _scalp_…felt sooo good. The gradual onset of drowsiness dispersed, and he felt reinvigorated already.

He caught Smellerbee looking at him from the corner of his eye; he turned his attention to the younger boy, hiking an eyebrow. "What?"

"You don't have a topknot," he noted, shaking his head and giving a quizzical frown. "Every Fire Nation soldier I've seen's worn one."

"We put them down when wearing brain buckets," Sheng said, a faint grin splitting his face. He dropped the helmet to the grass – black and red and emblazoned with a flamed crest around the frame for his face. It bounced and rolled a foot or two before coming to a stop against a rock. "There's no room for 'em. I won't need to use the helmet, but I can't put my hair up in the topknot anymore, either."

"Huh." Smellerbee shook his head, droplets of water flicking from the ends of his hair, which clung to his face and scalp like rat tails. "What - against the rules or something?"

"It's tradition, really," Sheng murmured, a bemused grin crossing his face. He shrugged, as if to say, _'I can't abandon __all__ of my culture.'_ "In the Fire Nation, when a person faces exile or commits treason and becomes an enemy to the state, they have to sever their topknots. I could always put mine up and slice it just for the sake of completion, but then I'd have a big divot in my scalp."

Smellerbee laughed at this, and Sheng felt shock at how youthful the sound was; it wasn't hearty, it was more like a giggle, like grade schoolers trading dirty jokes in featherlight whispers so the teacher wouldn't hear. (Of course, they _always_ heard regardless of how much you tried to stifle yourself - how tightly wound you became to avoid leaking.)

"Yeah," the Freedom Fighter agreed, a grin playing across his lips. "The last thing you need is a second hole in the head."

"Oh, har-dee-har," Sheng replied, heaving as heavy an eye-roll as he could lay on...and fighting back a grin that struggled to show at the same time. "Oh...I found this, by the way." Sheng reached into his armor, withdrawing from it a brown sheath made of hide with a dagger inside, the leather straps dangling free like noodles clutched between a pair of chopsticks. "During that brawl. I think one of the others took it as a war souvenir, or something – but it was on the ground near the fight. I know it's yours, so…"

Smellerbee hiked an eyebrow, fixing him with a cynical gaze – as if he didn't believe the salvation of his dagger had even been possible. Or it hadn't even crossed his mind. Sheng felt his cheeks grow hot as the shaggy-haired boy reached out and plucked the sheathed weapon away from him without so much as a word, drawing the blade and examining its sinewy curves as they cast a silver reflection of the clouds overhead.

"Huh. Doesn't _look_ damaged," he murmured, turning it over once before sheathing it again. He kept a tight grip on it and didn't bother to harness it around him; Sheng imagined his thumb still hurt from dislocating it, even though he'd managed to re-set it as they moved. Ah well. At least he had it back.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The village was small and dusty - a feeble, shabby little thing with only a few businesses and ten or twelve houses. But they had food, and they had Earth Kingdom clothing, and Sheng's Fire Nation armor went for enough coin to get both. Sitting against the side of the decrepit old armory, with the wood moist and ragged and digging into his worn, faded green tunic, Sheng had to stop and wonder how, exactly, he would break the news to Smellerbee that he was utterly and completely lost.

Sure, they had started by running away from the garrison and heading back in the direction they'd come from the night before, but the slave line and its captors hadn't come anywhere _near_ this ramshackle village. Sheng knew he was a bumbler and could be forgetful at times, but he'd have remembered a village - especially since the only people living here were so old that looked as if they predated the war itself. (At least, he _hoped_ he'd remember.) (Plus, if anybody here were young enough to be just his grandfather, Sheng would openly admit to being very, very surprised.)

The storm had lessened in the hours of their travel, and a flicker of conversation ran through Sheng's mind from earlier: Smellerbee mentioning about his wrists. That - that might make a good starting place, you know? A good way to break the ice and just ease into the topic he really wanted to get to. Maybe the Freedom Fighter _wouldn't_ get irritated with him (because the younger boy did seem irritable when he wasn't giggling about Sheng's intelligence, or lack thereof), and they'd be able to, you know...get back on the right path.

He felt like burying his face in his hands. As a chronic victim of foot-in-mouth disease, he could tell when something _really_ dumb sprouted up in his head before he verbalized it. Still...it was better than nothing, right?

Sheng glanced over to Smellerbee, a roasted, gamy slab of meat slapped gracelessly onto the plate he held in one hand. Sheng had liked how the food tasted, even though it wasn't all that spicy (a few of the proper herbs and fifteen minutes' less cooking at ten degrees higher a temperature would have made a supreme steak out of this passable poultry), but Smellerbee...the younger boy _ate_ it, and didn't really seem to mind, but he'd...it was hard to explain, it's like he'd gone idle to keep from realizing how par it was. The awning of the armory kept the rain far enough away from the two that they could chow down without getting wet.

"You don't like it," Sheng noted, prodding at the remnants of his own demi-steak with a fork. He impaled it and took a moderate bite, wincing as his teeth sunk first into gristle and fighting off his gag reflex.

"You caught me red-handed," Smellerbee admitted, chuckling and grinning. "That's okay. It's food. Sometimes we don't get enough meals to go around back in the forest - and there's a lot of mouths to feed. I remember one winter, right before it got bitter-cold, our storage space got plundered by curious skunk bears. Skillet - our cook - was _furious_, and if we hadn't held her back, she would'a gone right after those bastards with a frying pan in each hand." His lips settled into an even line, his unswollen eye coming to rest on the meat slab before him. "That was a hard one. We lost a few of us to the cold and famine. Jet, Longshot, Pipsqueak, Sneers, Skillet and I ate maybe once every couple days or so; they were the oldest and I couldn't'a lived with myself for eating more than them, and it wasn't right to have what the kids couldn't. Lemme tell you...when it's so cold your fingers hurt from bein' numb and you haven't had a meal more substantial than a half loaf of stale bread in two months, you get to appreciate whatever is put on the plate in front of you."

Sheng sagged as the Freedom Fighter weaved his anecdote, feeling his heart sink a little. It wasn't like he was so ignorant that he didn't know of the world's impoverishes (hell, just look around this town, which seemed to be composed almost entirely of dust, probably down to a molecular level). If Smellerbee was right, the Fire Nation was responsible for most of it (just more weight on those shoulders, hope you don't mind). What really got him, though - a fact that was really kind of upsetting - was that _children_ had to endure it, children without proper homes or families. Sheng felt responsible for it, because here he had been striving for the glory of his nation, oblivious to what extent their 'enemy' had to endure in the meanwhile. He felt his head hang a little bit and tried to come up with something - _anything_ - to say, but every time he tried to put the letters together in the right order, they'd get big and complex and turn asinine.

Maybe best to keep it simple, then.

In this event where words failed, Sheng drew a deep, low breath, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Smellerbee murmured, casting a sideways glance at him. "You should be."

"I know it doesn't fix anything," he offered, and a curse threatened to well up inside him and explode. He'd already said too much, now it just looked _feeble_ on his part, but Smellerbee latched onto it anyway, and Sheng noticed that when the Freedom Fighter's lips peeled back to expose his teeth, they looked strangely like fangs.

"You're right, it doesn't," he snapped, setting his plate down on the ground between them, his steak unfinished. "But you wanna know something? Redemption's a long road and there's somethin' about you that keeps me from giving you a new hole to breath out of. Maybe - and I don't know _why_ I'm botherin' to say this because I feel like an idiot just mentioning it to you at all - maybe I think you can _change_. Maybe I'm willing to give you the benefit of a doubt Jet's telling me I shouldn't. For some dumb reason, I believe you're actually being sincere, even if you don't know how deep into the hole you've fallen just by taking your share of the guilt. So you're sorry; good on you. Until you can prove it, though, you're still just Fire Nation - armor or no armor, topknot or no topknot."

"Then let me help." Sheng felt a certain rhythm flowing between himself and the swordsman that had opened his eyes, returning the volley back to him with a warming self-confidence he didn't know he had in him. "You said you've got a cook, right? I can cook, too. I've never been that great of a Firebender and even worse a soldier. I can help make meals for your group."

"You? _You_ want to be a Freedom Fighter?" Smellerbee snorted and crossed his arms. "No way in hell. I won't let it happen."

"_Please_," Sheng begged, and he felt himself standing, moving, and then sitting again with his legs folded beneath him, this time facing Smellerbee directly; he bowed down as low as he could and pressed his hands into the dirt, rough and grainy and tiny enough to get under his fingernails. He could feel the stuff pressed against his forehead, threatening to get into his bangs, but that was small penance to pay, wasn't it? "You're right, redemption's a long road. I'm willing to do my part - to haul my weight and help those around me. I haven't drawn a drop of blood in a fight, but my nation's crimes are _my_ crimes - from the lowliest soldier to Fire Lord Ozai himself. I can't do much on my own, but I can _cook_, and I want to cook for those who have suffered the most from the war my people are inflicting."

"..." Smellerbee said nothing for what felt like the longest time - probably only just a few seconds, but Sheng didn't move, did not rise, didn't even crane his neck back to look at the Freedom Fighter; and when that time passed, the younger boy shifted his weight, scuffed his boots on the ground (_what was he doing?_) and, suddenly, Sheng felt something cold, unyielding and thin against the nape of his neck, making him shudder.

"I _could_ kill you right now, like I ought to," Smellerbee hissed. "You say your people's burdens are yours? Then you got a lot to owe up to."

Sheng swallowed, but kept silent. The rhythm still flowed in Smellerbee's favor. Breaking it meant that the knife would find a new home in his flesh.

"Fortunately for you, there are people in my life who don't always agree with Jet's way of thinking. Right now, I'm inclined to listen to that person, even if he ain't here. So here's what'll happen: I'll bring you back to the forest and introduce you to the Freedom Fighters. They'll judge you, see if you're fit to help us, and - if the others agree - you're in. But you can't be Sheng from the Fire Nation, because that man died when he took off his helmet and didn't pull his topknot up to sever it. You're an Earth Kingdom kid now, you helped me escape from the slave line and that's all the others are ever going to know. Keep it simple, so we don't get caught up in too many lies. And so help me, if you Firebend - if your cover gets blown - you're on your own because I will deny ever knowing the truth and the others will believe me any day over some scheming Fire Nation spy. And if you try to hurt any of us, I'll kill you myself. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Sheng said – and his face was pressed so close to the ground that the word made a cloud of dirt swirl up. He choked a little on it, coughed, and the thought that Smellerbee would misread that as hesitation welled up like a bloated bubble of fear.

Silence fell over the pair again, and at last, Smellerbee withdrew his knife and shifted his weight again, sheathing it. Voice gruff and low, he murmured, "Fine. Now get up, you're embarrassing me."

Sheng pushed himself upright and exhaled, coughing. "Thanks. S - hckk - sorry."

Smellerbee crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to the side, sticking out his lower lip. "Whatever."

"But if I'm gonna be Earth Kingdom, what's my name gonna be? 'Sheng' isn't very native." Sheng hunch-walked back to his seat against the side of the armory, picking up his plate and working at the steak again.

"Shit, I dunno." Smellerbee shrugged. "Lee, or something like that. There're a million Lees in the world."

Sheng sighed. It wasn't the most incredible name and it certainly didn't come close to the unique flavor of 'Smellerbee' or 'Jet'... but it would do for now. It wasn't like he had any more creative solutions at hand. Glancing up at the silver-gray sky, he murmured, "You know...we're lost."

"Huh?" Smellerbee turned his half-gaze to Sheng again, a cool smirk blooming on his face. "Oh, yeah. I've known for hours now."

"Sorr - I...wha?" Sheng shook his head and blinked, turning to face the Freedom Fighter with wide eyes. "How?"

"Pfft. I'm a hunter. I gather a lot of the meat and animal supplies we need when I'm not fighting you guys. It's my job to know where I'm going...and right now, I don't care where that is so long as it's away from that garrison." He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them - a gesture that was more feminine than not, and something that threw the Fire Nation cook off-guard. "Once the stars come out, I'll be able to navigate us a way home."

"...oh." Sheng rubbed the back of his neck, heat rising up and undoubtedly turning his cheeks ruby-red. "That's a weight off _my_ back, in any case."

Smellerbee quirked his head. "Well, as long as we're coming clean with obvious mistruths, I might as well tell you mine: I ain't really a boy. It's just easier to let you guys - _those_ guys - think that I am. But I'm sure a smart cookie like your figured that out, right?" Another smirk curled her lips, and her good eye narrowed - a facial expression so dangerous that Sheng felt paralyzed just looking at it, as if she could cut him just by looking at him. Sheng gulped, swallowing a razor-edged lump of fear that had appeared as suddenly as a sparrowkeet from a street entertainer's sleeve. It didn't matter that Sheng _hadn't_ been bright enough to figure it out until now, and it didn't matter that he had trouble believing it because this - this little _girl_ had kicked so much butt three days ago and today, and she really did look kind of ugly. But this ugly little girl knew how to outsmart and outfight adults twice her size and three times her weight, sooo...

He wasn't a complete moron. He picked up on the barb where she'd so clearly left it; denying her would be a mistake, and so any shock the Firebender had in him remained internal. "Of - of course_,_" he agreed, putting on something he hoped would pass as a grin. He doubted it would be convincing enough, but maybe all Smellerbee would need was the verbal confirmation. "Knew the entire time."

"Good," Smellerbee replied, haughty and smug. "That's what I thought."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Apparently, Sheng had a ghastly sense of direction, because whatever route Smellerbee chose to lead them on had been a days-long journey so far, with no end in sight. When the Fire Nation boy asked how close they were to the forest of hers, she would just grunt and shake her head, muttering under her breath about how dumb he was - but that was alright, really. By now it was just part of their flow, their rhythm...she seemed to operate better with him creating the chemistry needed for her to be grumpy over something, and he really felt kind of welcomed by her reactions. They never felt belittling at heart, like those of the officers or his peers in the army. They had called him stupid and useless to wound, to demoralize; Smellerbee, meanwhile, said these things more to fuel her _own_ fires, and Sheng wouldn't mind being a scapegoat if that meant getting to (what was hopefully) his new home more efficiently.

Sitting out in the wilderness one night, the air cool on his face and ruffling his Earth Kingdom clothes, Sheng stared up at the stars - white, shining freckles set against the black face of the sky. He'd always thought that the stars were pretty - if not distant and cold, something that made him feel very small in comparison to the greater working of things. Their distance and their beauty always put him at ease, though, and made the bumbling awkwardness of puberty and life a little more tolerable. You know? Like, everything would be alright in the end because you're just not important enough to really matter.

Sometimes, he wondered what it was like to be relevant in the light of the stars. You'd pretty much have to be an Avatar to stand up next to them, and _he_ hadn't been seen in almost a century by this point.

Hah. Sheng, the Avatar...? He could barely bend his own native element, and he couldn't imagine working with something as, as _alien_ as water, let alone air and earth. Water would be the tricky one, because it involved so much fluidity. Firebending had too much structure, and what little Sheng _did_ know was enough to tell him that much. No, he'd have to settle for just admiring these stars and their eternal nature.

A fire crackled nearby, the smell of burning wood wafting up into the air, and Sheng took a long, deep breath, inhaling the scent. He'd had to eat a lot of meals by firelight ever since being sent to work in the field, but - as he'd mentioned to Smellerbee days before, it wasn't for cooking the meals so much as lighting their camp. He sat alone this time, as well - the young Freedom Fighter had set off to find something to kill. Said how, because they were in a thin, woodsy area, a deer hare or two would be lurking around in the tall grass, fast asleep. It'd be easy pickings.

Sheng didn't think he'd ever eaten meat off something so freshly deceased, and the thought made him a little queasy. But Smellerbee's survivalist meals thus far hadn't been too bad, if lacking in the meat department (mostly edible berries and nuts thus far, and he wouldn't mind something a bit more filling).

The Firebender had been so lost in thought that he didn't realize Smellerbee had been approaching until she entered their little clearing; he started at first, his breath catching in his chest and a spark of fire flitting across his right palm, before sighing and settling back into a sitting position.

"You gotta be a little more careful," Smellerbee said, fixing Sheng with a look. The swelling on her lips and around her eye had gone down noticeably, although her upper lip still had that unique, accentuated curl to it that struck Sheng as a decidedly feminine thing the more he thought about it. In one hand, the wiry girl clutched her dagger, mostly clean but still streaked with blood, as if she'd cleaned it with a leaf or something along those lines; in her right hand, she clutched a misshapen lump of fur, brown with white spots stippling the side, a little larger than her head. "I could see that small 'outburst' from over here, an' some of my friends are a lot more observant than I am. I know you aren't all that great a Firebender - "

" - I still only light the campfires because we don't have spark rocks, and it's embarrassing the way you stand over me to watch me do it - "

" - because you suck at it, but that's no excuse for you to let your guard down like that." She wandered over to the center of the camp and set her catch on the ground. From this angle, Sheng could make out the almond-shaped head, nubbin antlers, and the curves of the animal's thighs, but no more. That was okay. Getting any better a view of it would probably make him throw up, or at least give him a heavy sensation of nausea. "Firebending even a _little_ would be bad news all the way around in Hong Ye."

"Well, that's just fine," Sheng retorted, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. "I do better absorbing fire than making it, anyway."

"You - what?"

"It's - it's embarrassing," he repeated, looking away from her. "I don't do great with external Firebending, but I'm pretty good at taking the stuff in. It's a fluke."

She paused, and at last shook her head, sighing. "Whatever. Just don't do _anything_ because somebody's gonna catch you."

Sheng nodded, falling silent as Smellerbee went to work with her catch - skinning it, slowly, carefully, and then setting the pelt aside when it had come free of the carcass, to work at the muscle. In dire need of a distraction, Sheng closed his eyes and took a steady, calming breath; he let it out slowly, drawing another, releasing it, repeating the process for about a minute before he felt ready. He opened his eyes again and looked into the flickering, orange flames of the campfire, and reached one hand into it, feeling the flames caress the back of his hand, his fingers, but daring not to hesitate lest his concentration break. He scooped away a handful of the stuff and brought it close to his chest; the campfire itself continued to burn onward as strongly as it had before, at no loss for what had been stolen from it, while the smaller mass - and you couldn't really call it that, could you? - of flame continued to burn away in Sheng's grip without a fuel source, just the man's own chi and willpower, and - and it was great.

He shamed himself, not being able to think of a better word. His peers had all been better Firebenders than he had, and he felt grateful for what little control he had over the stuff. He wasn't a fighter, but that hadn't ever stopped him from admiring those who wielded it. Much like the stars, it was something greater than he could ever really hope to be.

He stared down at the flickering ball of fire hovering over his palm, its tendrils reaching up into the air, trying to comb his face. Setting his mouth into a straight line, Sheng began to breathe through his nose again - deep in, slow out, deep in, slow out, the fire shifting and waving and changing in size each time he alternated, reaching upward and outward, like a cobra mongoose arched back to snap its venomous fangs into unsuspecting prey - until, at last, he drew one long, sharp breath inward through his mouth, the fire arcing upward and vanishing between his lips.

He craned his head back, glancing up at the sky. He doubted the fire remained as such while inside of him, although he'd always been curious; he could feel heat, so much _heat_, inside his sinuses and throat, but he could never breathe like this because - because once he did then it would come out, and...and, well, it was all a matter of timing, of breath control, and the world was starting to get stuffy and stifling and -

Opening his mouth, he breathed outward, expelling a thin cone of flame that arched up into the sky and vanished. He let his head fall forward again and he sucked in sweet, clean air. Yeah. That felt better. It felt as if, alongside the fire, he'd released a spray of pressure that had been building up inside his chest and stomach.

"Nice trick."

Sheng glanced over to Smellerbee and saw Freedom Fighter staring at him, her brow furrowed, a frown drawn onto her face.

"Sorry. Our dinner was making me queasy." Sheng gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head and digging his fingers into his scalp. "I've never been familiar with my ingredients while they were so...fresh."

"Sissy." Smellerbee shook her head and smirked. "Think you can handle skewering the meat?"

"Yeah, I should be able to do that." Internally, Sheng didn't feel so confident, but Smellerbee was already doing all of the work. "How do you want it cooked? Rotisserie? Roasted? Or are you more of a carnal type and prefer yours still bleeding?"

"Um." Smellerbee fixed him with a puzzled stare, and Sheng wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He blushed, feeling like he'd asked another dumb question, and readied himself for a verbal lashing. "I was just gonna make jerky out of it."

Sheng blinked and felt as if he'd stumbled. Of all the answers he'd been expecting, that wasn't the one – and, before he new it, a broiling confidence welled up inside him and he shook his head. "Are you kidding? You'd rather eat something so melancholy when you could have something with a bit more flair?"

"I save flair for when I'm not on the road," she explained, pouting as if hurt by the statement, but Sheng saw a glimmer in her eyes that belied hidden amusement. He was getting better at understanding the little things that made this lanky girl work, he realized. "There's nothin' wrong with jerky."

"Hmph. You and your barbarian palette." Sheng beamed, and in response, Smellerbee chucked one of the peeled strips of muscle at him. The Firebender, caught off guard, fumbled and almost dropped the slick, dripping foodstuff, and even though he managed to close his fingers around it he suddenly felt the nausea wash back over him, like a cold, hard wave while at the beach. Pinching the meat between his forefinger and thumb, a red stain coloring the palm of his hand, Sheng gagged and went to grab one of the wooden skewers Smellerbee had carved.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

They settled on a compromise; he could cook a few strips of meat however the hell he wanted for himself, while she would preserve the remainder for the next few days of their trip. Sheng didn't have a whole lot to work with out in the wild, but the lack of ingredients wasn't a _complete_ handicap. Part of the whole equation involved cooking it directly: how long, how near or far away it was to the fire, that sorta thing. He could make this tasty even without the help of seasoning or spices (although he longed for some good, spicy food - the army rations had been meager on many fronts and that was one of them).

As the meat crackled on their makeshift cabob skewers, impaled and roasting over the campfire, Sheng let his eyes wander back up to the stars - then down again, to see Smellerbee wrapping some of the cooked and salted jerky in "borrowed" wax paper from the same town in which he'd parted ways with his armor. Something nagged at the back of his head, like an itch that wouldn't go away no matter how much he scratched at it; he vainly tried to pluck the thought out by sticking his finger in his ear and twisting, trying to get out whatever it was that had gotten stuck in there, to no avail.

"What's bothering you?" Smellerbee asked, not looking up from her jerky, catching Sheng off his guard. How had she known...? This girl never stopped surprising, did she?

Sheng shook his head. "I can't tell. Weird, huh?"

"Not really. Try your best."

"Well - uh - oh, yeah!" With a snap of the fingers, he felt his expression brighten. "Why are we taking so long to get to your forest? I mean - we were only a few days out from where we'd captured you by the time I, uh, admitted I didn't know where I was going."

Smellerbee shrugged. "You're persistent...fine. Like I said, Ke's not a moron. I doubt he'd let us get away so easily and I wouldn't be surprised if we were being tailed by one of his men. I won't lead a Fire Nation soldier back to the forest, so until I can make sure we're clear, I've been cutting a wide arc instead of a straight line to where we're heading."

"How could you be sure?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'd need someone else's help - someone a lot stealthier than you could manage, I think."

Sheng yielded the point, nodding and frowning.

"'Zactly. But for now, let's keep it on the down-low, because I can't tell if they're close by, or - "

She fell silent so suddenly that Sheng felt his breath catch in his chest, as if it weren't just her that had been affected - as if the very air had been sucked from around the two, leaving them in a speechless void. His heart throbbed against his ribcage, felt his pulse in his throat, watching as Smellerbee cocked her head to one side, her shaggy mop of hair flopping at an angle. Her eyes - almond shaped and lined with mascara - flitted left, right, left again without really focusing on anything in particular. Something wasn't right. Sheng clenched his fists, one pulling out the grass his fingers had been entangled in, snapping the blades clean from their roots.

The tension killed him; aside from his fists, he sat perfectly still, listening - trying to hear something out of the ordinary like Smellerbee must have, but nothing registered to his ears aside from the typical chirruping of insects and hooting, screeching cat-owls in the distance. Still, this once-calming and open night suddenly felt stifling, like he'd inhaled the entire campfire and his mouth refused to open so he could let it all out - and, and, dammit, sweat beaded on his brow, and he knew something was going to happen and he'd fuck it up -

A branch snapped behind Smellerbee, and the Freedom Fighter moved so fast Sheng could barely register the movement; she whipped around, grabbed her dagger, and hurled it into the bushes, drawing a strangled yowl that sounded far too human to be an animal.

The move acted like a signal; from the brush all around them emerged too many men for Sheng to count, and he was on his feet, stumbling, reaching for - what, a weapon? Smellerbee had already pushed herself up and around, whirling, rushing at the nearest bandit (because that's what they were, right, they were bandits looking for a quick meal or to slake their bloodlust) and dropping to the ground, sliding between his legs. She bound back to her feet and in one fluid, dance-like motion, grabbed the man's right arm (holding a glimmering short sword), snapping it backwards with a wet crunch. He cried out, dropped the sword, and Smellerbee caught it before it landed, turning to Sheng and tossing it through the air at him.

He felt the urge to yell out, _Swords aren't meat!_ and probably did (he could hear _somebody's_ voice cracking and going shrill with panic), but he reached out and, thank the Spirits, actually caught the weapon by the hilt – it impacted against his palm and like the slab of meat had, his fingers clumsy and slow to close around it, but he _caught _it, the leather worn and rough under his grip.

It weighed heavy in his hand, but – but it was better than nothing and he heard footsteps rushing from behind and he whirled around and stuck the sword out with eyes wide and –

- and the bandit that had been rushing at him impaled himself on the blade, shock registering on his face, blood dribbling down his bearded chin, his cheeks and brow covered in grime –

Too many bandits swarmed around them, and Sheng wrenched the blade from the gut of the dying one – that had been a fluke, really – and there, more – no, _there_ – aaaah, too many! He swung, blindly, trying to – to focus, to be half the soldier he'd claimed to be, maybe he could – you know, do that thing with his bending where he integrated the sword into it but – that was advanced and he wasn't even that good and – and something nipped at his side but it didn't dig into him too deep, he just lashed out instinctively –

Where had all these bandits come from and how'd they sneak up on both himself and Smellerbee so easily? Looked like – eight of them, maybe, still remained standing and Smellerbee tore through them with two different swords, one a short sword and the other a bit longer – unbalanced, but each strike debilitating or lethal and, and, and…

Sheng felt himself enthralled by it. Death and violence and beauty all in one wiry, tomboyish bundle. For a moment, watching her dance amongst their enemies with flickering, shimmering waves of silver-orange whirling around her body, Sheng faltered.

Dumb, stupid mistake – but that was the story of his life.

One of the bandits must have blindsided him because the next moment he realized his hands were empty and he was on his hands and knees, a coppery taste welling up in his mouth. The grass swam and doubled just a few inches away, and his peripheral vision buzzed and turned black. Head jumbled, thoughts – unclear, not making much sense, dull throbbing under his hair, his scalp sticky and warm, but distant –

A flash of brown overhead. It took a moment to realize, but – Smellerbee? Yeah. She – she must have seen Sheng go down (great, now he was a liability) and lunged in to save him, her arms were under his, she hefted him to his feet even though he must have weighed so much and he was just a sandbag-man, his legs like jelly.

"Snap out of it," Smellerbee hissed into his ear, her voice distant, coated in fuzz. "Four left, I can't kill them and save your ass at the same time!"

"R-right," he mumbled back, shaking his head and groping for the sword – on the ground, so far away now – but Smellerbee realized this and knew, passing him one of the ones she'd stolen - too suddenly, he was stumbling away, and Smellerbee was yowling like a pissed off pygmy puma, and Sheng was on the ground again because his legs wouldn't hold him up - he landed on his back, grunted, and craned his head up enough to see the remaining four bandits between her and him. Two kept her arms pinned behind her back and crossed their swords in front of her, one dangerously close to her neck, while the other two loomed over Sheng, scowling.

"We _were_ just gonna steal your food," one of the bandits growled, baring his few remaining teeth and furrowing his brow. "But you went an' made it hard! Now all our brothers are dead, you miserable fleas - so we decided that we're gonna gut'cha and take your food anyway."

Smellerbee narrowed her eyes, a smirk crossing her face. Sheng gulped, realizing the venom on her face, and seeing the calculating glimmer in her gaze, recognized a plan brewing in that skull of hers. Major Ke would get a look like that when trouble arose for his platoon, and all it would take was the proper timing.

Would - would Sheng have a part in this plan? He tightened his grip on the sword in his hand and felt himself trembling. It'd be stupid to just up and move because the two guys had their swords pressed to her, so - he hiked an eyebrow at her, and she gave a minute shake of the head. Okay, good. No. He wouldn't move, not just yet.

"Hey, listen, guys," Smellerbee said, her voice calm and even somehow, despite the imminent threat to her well-being. She drew the attention of three of the bandits - but the fourth, one of the ones closer to Sheng, kept his attention on the young Firebender. "There's no reason we still can't work this out. There's plenty of meat left to go around, and I can always catch more."

"The meat's not important anymore. For the sake of our brothers - "

"You'll do what, exactly?" Smellerbee scoffed. "Sure, you'll have taken care of yourselves _now_, but I wouldn't doubt that you got a long journey ahead of you. You'll take the meat and have enough to last the four of you a couple days, _maybe_, but after that you'll just be a sad quartet of bandits without any food or applicable hunting and cooking skill."

This gave pause to the bandits as they exchanged unsettled glances - but that one, that _one_, kept his gaze on Sheng. The Firebender thought he understood what Smellerbee had wanted, she was planning on getting all four to focus on her so he could attack them...but what good would that do? He wasn't really that good a fighter, she knew it, and she couldn't'a been banking _everything_ on him, could she...?

"I'll cut you four a bargain," Smellerbee continued, a wicked grin forming and causing her to bare her teeth in a way that reminded Sheng even further of a pygmy puma. "Let us go, and I _won't_ kill the rest of you - in fact, I'd be so grateful, I'd be willing to hunt more meat for you. Lee over there'd be thrilled just to get the chance to cook for you, since he won't shut up about it."

"R-right," Sheng stuttered, eyes wide and heart racing, feeling their attention shift to him. "I - I - I - I love to cook and - and you look like you gentlemen truly have exquisite taste - "

"Shut. Mouth," The one bandit who never took his gaze of Sheng growled, whipping his sword around and pointing it at the Firebender's neck. Sheng gulped and let his gaze slide down - the blade disappeared beneath the arc of his nose. He couldn't feel it yet, so it must only be an inch or two away from his throat, and the urge to pee his pants became a sudden and alarming priority that he couldn't deny for much longer. "We're dirty, not dumb. You killed eight of my brothers and I ain't gonna let you free again to get the rest of us. Your time is done, boys."

The bandit drew his sword back and Sheng saw the blade glisten against the fire. This was it - this was all he had left - but his body didn't want to _move_, all he could do was scrunch his eyes tight, drawing a sharp breath - his _last_, that would be it, wouldn't it? - and then, and then -

_Thwip!_

Nothing...but not _nothingness_. Sheng opened an eye, cautiously, in case the bandit was just waiting for him to look before making the kill - but no, the sword just wasn't _there_ anymore, and the bandit's hand instead held an arrow. Except he wasn't actually _holding_ it, it was more that the arrow had been lodged through his palm, and his fingers were arced and splayed at the same time, blood seeping down the cracks and lines of his hand and dribbling to the ground. Retroactively, Sheng realized he'd heard the sword clatter when it landed on the ground, but panic had done its work in deafening him to it.

Sheng glanced over to Smellerbee and that her eyes had gone wide, her jaw slack - she looked as surprised as the bandit, as Sheng _probably _looked, and the other bandits had trouble registering the fact that something had, you know, _happened_. As if the past five minutes hadn't been enough of a wake-up call.

The wounded bandit opened his gap-toothed mouth - Sheng assumed it was to scream, either in anger or pain - but before any sound could come out, another arrow pierced his neck, and the bandit's eyebrows hiked so high that they almost vanished between his scraggly bangs. All that escaped from him was a low whisper, a gurgle, and the wound only left a small trickle of blood (_the arrow went clean through, holy crap!_). He crumpled, collapsing in a heap on top of his own sword.

The remaining three bandits must'a known their number was up, because they didn't wait around long enough to wind up like their supposed leader; dropping their weapons, they turned and ran, leaving Sheng and Smellerbee alone in the small clearing with their savior - leaping down from a tree, just out of sight cast by night's shadow, landing in a crouch with bow in hand. He wore a blue tunic and red mantle, with a straw cone hat on his head; he looked to be about Sheng's age, with a pale, narrow face and a large nose.

"Longshot!" Smellerbee called, beaming and - and, crying? Well, not _sobbing_, but Sheng could see tears in her eyes, streaming down her face, cross-hatching the remains of the crimson war paint slashed across her cheeks. She and Longshot ran for each other - and their arms and bodies, entangled, and, and, her face in his shoulder, and Smellerbee, talking, saying, "You idiot. I had it under control. I could'a taken 'em," and the archer, Longshot - another Freedom Fighter? Just pressed his hand to the back of her head, his expression even, silent.

Smellerbee pushed back from him and punched him in the arm, her grin not fading. "You're a jerk. How long were you waiting in the tree to make a dramatic entrance?"

Sheng looked over to Longshot, expecting - something, _anything_ really, but he remained mute and stoic...and yet, Smellerbee scoffed, retorting to some unspoken reply. "Sure, you'd _just_ found us. And Pipsqueak doesn't get gas after eating moon peaches."

Still nothing from Longshot, the boy didn't grin or chuckle or anything...and, Sheng found himself thinking, if _all_ of the Freedom Fighters came bundled with their own eccentricities like this, it would take a very long time to get used to them.

As if feeling Sheng's scrutinizing, the archer turned his attention to the Firebender; Sheng felt his chest caving in on itself and air refused to fill his lungs, and, and, what the hell was _up_ with this guy? Smellerbee followed Longshot's gaze and cut in quickly, before Sheng got the chance to open his mouth and say anything. "Oh, Longshot - that's, uh, Lee. He helped me escape from the Fire Nation camp that had caught me, and managed to free a lot of the slaves in the slave line. He - he wants to become a Freedom Fighter, work under Skillet as a cook."

"H-hi," Sheng said, clambering to his feet, letting the dingy, uncared-for swords rest on the ground where he laid them. He brushed off the back of his pants and, the awkwardness of Longshot's silence seeping into the atmosphere, added, "So, you...you're an archer, huh? That's - that's cool, you really saved our butts back there. Thanks."

Still nothing. The Firebender felt his face heating up out of embarrassment. "But - uh - yeah - "

"Well, in any case," The swordswoman cut in, leaving Sheng's sentiment half-finished, "I think - we need to make sure we're not being tailed by that Fire Nation convoy before we can make a line straight home. Longshot, did you - ?"

The archer turned his attention back to Smellerbee, and a slow, sly grin crossed her face. "You dog, you. Of course you'd get ahead of 'em and cover up the trail we'd been leaving. You're the best, Longshot."

"So, does that mean we can head to the forest now?" Sheng asked, hiking his eyebrows.

"Yeah." Smellerbee crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "Yes, it does."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Of course - at the time, Spatula hadn't known how to read Longshot, even as little as he did now. How his emotions were, oftentimes, just ghosts or hauntings of true expressions - how you had to pay attention in order to see his face move the way it ought to. And how, recently, because Spatula swore it wasn't his imagination now, if you looked into his eyes, you could understand what he was saying. It wasn't easy...then again, neither were Firebending or fighting.

Before he could continue with his story - his voice hurt a little bit, and he felt like he'd been talking for hours - a brief, shrill buzzing noise filled the air, making Longshot wince.

"Ah, rec time." Spatula pointed up at the ceiling, even though nothing had been hooked up there to broadcast the noise directly into the room. "Looks like my story's gonna have to wait. The guards are gonna lead us all out into this courtyard, and I'll show you where the Waterbender works, okay?"

Longshot nodded, dark shadows impacted underneath his eyes. He looked sick, tired, and probably had a bigger migraine than the one he'd pantomimed following the first part of Spatula's tale (not like he blamed him). The sooner Spatula could get him healed up, the better the archer's stay would get...because, really, that's all the comfort he could offer for him right now, with answers on hold.


	4. Bonus Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Bonus Chapter 1: Do you remember the night, when the sky was so dark, and the moon shone so bright?**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

I was the youngest of four children in my family.

My eldest brother - Jiege - was my hero when I was a kid; he stood tall, proud, already an ensign in the Fire Nation navy by the time I first learned how to play hide and explode. He was the pride of the family, really, the firstborn son, the man with no shadows to live in and a destiny to forge. He was away more often than not - he was older than me by ten years! - spending most of his time at sea, at war, doing his part to spread the glory of the Fire Nation, just like we'd been taught in school. When he was on shore leave, though...when he came to visit, none of that followed him home, the prestige, the command, the potential to set even greater standards. Once he set foot through the gate bordering our property, Ensign Jiege of the Fire Navy became my big bro. He'd tell us about his campaigns at dinner, yeah - but he didn't sit there and droll on about it like teachers did. From him, his experiences weren't a history lesson; he weaved tapestries out of them, made them big and bright and colorful for the rest of us.

When we weren't eating, he would play with us, teach us, support us - nobody picked on chubby old Sheng when Jiege was around, and only partially because of his physical presence. Jiege inspired me to be courageous when I was frightened, to do the right thing even if it meant doing the _hard_ thing. He helped me walk tall when he was home.

All of that - it's what inspired me to go into the military myself, as it probably did my sisters before me, though I can't speak for them. I wanted to have Jiege's strength, the same success as he had, to be able to tell my own stories to my children as if they were watercolored scrolls, of how I had gone many places and seen many things and spread so much glory to a world that just didn't know any better.

It wasn't that easy, though. Jiege had huge boots to fill.

He and my two older sisters all chose to pursue naval careers; when it came time for me to enroll (my parents had been expecting me to, after three of their children had already done), I instead chose the army - because as much as I admired Jiege, I wanted my stories to be mine alone, and maybe one day I'd even be able to impress Jiege with things he hadn't experienced, hadn't even known about. I could do that in return for inspiring me like he had.

Before the military, though, Jiege would write letters home, frequently - at least one every two weeks when possible. But those letters were for the entire family - they felt special, yes, but they were nothing compared to what followed after joining the army. My older brother still sent the letters, but he'd started sending ones to me, me _personally_; those letters, they were truly special, because even though Jiege wasn't there to help keep me courageous, his words would pick me up and make my spine go straight. It made bearable my being part of the army - of being a tremendous loser, a pale, flabby excuse for a soldier who, with every passing day, had difficulty remembering what was so glorious about this work, and what we were doing to the Earth Kingdom's people. If I lost sight of my purpose, he would remind me of it, even if unintentionally. He would always lead off his letters with, "how are things on your end of the war?" and I would always respond, "Fine, nothing unusual," and then all formalities got cast aside. It didn't matter if it was from a naval officer to a lowly corporal; even though the letter had been transported by Fire Nation military-grade messenger hawks, they were letters from my big bro. That was what made them important.

I wrote back, too - every day I got one of his letters, I would read it over and over, absorbing every character, every stroke of the brush, and could feel my cheeks and chest tingling. And once I had gotten my fill, had soaked in his love, I would write a response, just as sure to put the love back in without getting sappy. Jiege understood, he always did - he was good for that sort of thing. I would send them out the same day, if possible (sometimes it wasn't, and I couldn't help but feel like Jiege stood over my shoulder, tapping his foot and wondering what I was waiting for). But I would, and he would write me back and mention how he got my last letter and reply to everything I'd said in it, and...

It was wonderful. The highlight of my brief military career.

And then..._she_ happened.

Jiege hadn't written in some time...had mentioned in his last letter how his unit had to go under communications blackout in order to successfully invade a stubborn island in the north, and that he would write back when the mission ended, for good or ill. I would read over his old letters, trying to scoop out any sort of morale boost I could from them, but even before the blackout, the seeping doubt of what my unit was doing - 'transporting Earth Kingdom slaves from one point to the next - gnawed at me. Jiege's letters were miracle workers, but they couldn't ease away my discomfort; his letters would say, 'it's a difficult post to secure! I'm very proud of you for getting it,' and at first that had bolstered me, but by the time we had captured Smellerbee, the words didn't carry the same impact anymore.

Her presence revolutionized the way I thought, and at the time - things had been moving so hectic, so fast - making the right choice, doing the hard thing, came natural, and Jiege only fleetingly entered my thoughts. In the deluge of rain and thought, with my peers and superiors brawling all around me, I freed the slaves we had captured and deserted my post, fleeing with the renegade girl with shaggy hair and a boyish figure.

It had happened so suddenly that I never had time to bring any of my brother's letters with me, and that was my one regret...but going into the viper's den as I was, I had to leave my entire identity behind me. No Fire Nation armor. No topknot. No Firebending, what feeble amount I had to my name. So of course the letters - every last one, I'd saved them all - wouldn't have been able to come along even if I _had_ brought them with me from that garrison. It was too incriminating. Physical, written evidence that I was Fire Nation? Smellerbee had openly told me, many times, that the Freedom Fighters hated the Fire Nation to various degrees, but none with as much intensity as their leader, Jet. Word could absolutely _not_ get out, because I was intent on making right and she believed me that much, and if any of them - especially Jet - found the truth, I would die. Simple as that.

Dying would be very bad things, so I chose to play along and suppress everything Fire Nation about me.

That - not unlike fighting against my waning faith in my country's army, sharing the glory tarnished from the war's actions - wasn't an easy feat, even in the face of what I had to gain. I'm not blind, but I'm proud of my heritage - proud to be Fire Nation, though the actions of my country shame me. But it was better to keep all of that locked away. I took a new name for myself - gone, Sheng of the Fire Nation Army, I was Spatula from that day out and I haven't let the title go since. I might not have been military anymore, I might have 'defected,' but I was still doing the right thing. I could just imagine Jiege's reaction...how, although he'd been proud before, he was full to bursting with the stuff now, how his youngest sibling was finally accomplishing something great, if even on a small scale and for the enemy. How I had done The Right Thing, made The Hard Choice, and even though it wasn't for my country, it was still impressive. He would love how I managed to step out of that massive shadow of his, that I had managed to become my own man.

The thoughts were all I had at that point. If Jiege sent out any further letters, the messenger hawks never found me. It was better that way, I guess, but I still missed my big bro. What tormented me the most though was what the military may have told him, told my parents - that their youngest son had become a deserter, had turned traitor and freed Earth Kingdom slaves before vanishing with a guerilla soldier. Jiege wouldn't know anything about my actions as a Freedom Fighter...only that I was a turncoat. When I let my thoughts wander to that sort of thing - my heart would turn on itself and start gnashing at my insides with razor-sharp teeth, and I had to shove them away and think of what _might_ be, or else risk breaking down. And just as much as I shouldn't have received any letters, nor could I send any to him; the Freedom Fighters didn't have any messenger hawks, and it would be awfully suspicious if one happened to show up bearing a Fire Nation insignia on the message tube. Sneers already suspected me of foul play, and he was persistent; any evidence, even if it wasn't directly linked to me, would work against me.

The work I put into my redemption staved those snarling feelings off, though. I was doing something I loved! I was cooking, I was helping children my country had orphaned, and it didn't really matter what Jiege may actually have _known_ at the time, I knew that if he ever found out the truth he'd have that pride for me, the pride I imagined him with.

So I guess it was fitting karma that it didn't last very long. I got found out. I had to Firebend! I didn't - there hadn't been any choice in the matter, it was either that, or...well. In any case, I'd sealed my fate. I ran away, ran from the Freedom Fighters - put them behind me.

I wasn't a survivalist, despite my time with the group - I was used to having my food brought from the nearest villages, or provided by the Freedom Fighters' hunters. I mostly wandered from one town to the next, always putting distance between myself and my former home, Hong Ye forest...wandering, alone, never quite sure of what to do, where to go. Back to the Fire Nation army? They wouldn't have had me even _if_ I hadn't traded sides. It wasn't like I had been an asset to my unit. The good news was that I could at least start writing to my big bro again...and I did, once a week, mostly telling stories of that forest with leaves that stayed crimson all year long, of the ragtag group of children I had fed and played with, of the unique culture I'd become entangled with. At last, I _did_ have my own colorful tales to weave, and although I didn't have any children or younger siblings, I loved sharing these stories with Jiege just as much as I would have otherwise.

I didn't know if any of those letters reached him. I never got any in return...at least, not for the two months I managed to stay on the road.

The Fire Nation found me eventually, working in the kitchen of a sick house - earning my redemption one bowl of soup at a time. I'm not entirely sure how they managed it, though I'd bet silver to copper that it was a fluke. One of my peers from the slaving unit had been promoted and moved about the Earth Kingdom, and he recognized me even though I'd become considerably trimmer, that my complexion had deepened and I'd kept my hair cropped short. That was all it took - he had me arrested right there on the spot, taken away from my job in shackles.

"Nothing personal," he'd said, fixing me with an honest shrug. "You're just going to make me look good on my next performance review."

Retrospectively, I _have_ given him points for at least being truthful. At the time I was just too flabbergasted to do anything but sputter and hyperventilate.

Not long after, I found myself shuttled from one prison to the next - each one becoming more elaborate, more complex, more heavily secured. I was just a shabby excuse for a deserter! I wasn't worth my people's tax money. For all intents and purposes I should have been sent to one of those hole-in-the-ground places with rats and lice and cramped cells, but they kept bumping me up to jails that served as actual prisons for actual criminals. My old peer must have waxed poetic on the extent of my crimes (I guess I _had_ aided a renegade in freeing over a dozen slaves and set in motion a coup that cost many other soldiers, both officers and enlisted, their lives), because after a chaotic, nauseating, disjointed trip, I got sent out to Pan Xing Island - the Fire Nation's third most well-guarded prison facility, following after the Boiling Rock and the Spiral Tower in the capital. We're talking a courtyard lined with high metal walls, eating meals in shifts, guards with special uniforms belying the import of the position they held, and going almost everywhere in shackles.

When the opportunity presented itself, when I'd finally settled down in Pan Xing, I wrote another letter to Jiege. It had been almost a year since I'd gotten his last one; I told him where he could find me...where he could send the messenger hawk, and that I doubted I would be going anywhere anytime soon, so he could take his time with the response. So unless I had been wrong about my big bro...if that imagined pride was _just_ imagined and nothing more...no, it was better not to think about that sort of thing, just like it had been with the Freedom Fighters. Now I could at least say hello to him freely. Pan Xing may have had tight security, but they allowed correspondence.

So, imagine my surprise when, two weeks later, I got much more than a letter in return...


	5. Bonus Chapter 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Bonus Chapter 2: Would you do the whole thing all over again, knowing what you know now, knowing what you knew then?**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

A visitor.

For me? Seriously?

Who would come to see me? I hadn't had any friends in the military - or hell, _before_ the military - and if any other Freedom Fighters knew I was still alive, I doubt they would have dropped by to say hello.

The guards sat me down in a wooden chair - rickety, uncomfortable, made my butt hurt - in the middle of a rust-colored room, the walls, floor and ceiling made entirely of metal. Even though the sun shone through a barred window, casting a series of glowing rectangles across the floor, it was cold in there - chilly, but not enough to make my teeth chatter or anything. The mystery kept me occupied enough to not really notice other than at the back of my mind. Two guards stood on either side of the heavy, sliding door connecting the room to the corridors beyond, where all sorts of administrative jargon took place. I didn't know. Didn't really care - I was just a prisoner and tried making the most of my days. The workings of the prison itself didn't do anything for me. Boring facts I'd never really need to know - I may've learned something about that in boot camp, but I never really paid attention. Could you fault me? I had been out-of-shape at the time, and was more intent on following the drill instructor's orders without having a heart attack. (Being a Freedom Fighter had done wonders for the weight situation, though...and I had enough free time here where I could work out. I'd gotten pretty trim since going AWOL, and heaven forbid I actually get in shape!)

Beyond the door, I could hear the echoing, reverberating sounds of footsteps bouncing against the corridors. Voices, distant, buzzing and muffled. The low rumble of machinery churning and wheeling. There was never a moment of true silence in this place - even as you slept, all that cranky-grindy stuff rumbled all around. It was hard getting used to that...but I had adapted to living in a tent, sleeping on hard, wooden floors, where mosquitoes would nip at you during the summer and the only thing you could really do was take it in stride.

I mean, I guess prison wasn't _so_ bad. I still cooked for the inmates in exchange for some extra free time and rations (although no redemption came from that), and I'd already started learning which of my peers to avoid and which ones were pretty decent, their crimes set aside. But...well, it wasn't anything compared to the forest.

From outside, I heard a few sets of footsteps becoming clearer and more prominent over the background noise - stopping right beyond the doorway, still out of sight. And then a voice: "This is where the prisoner is being held?"

"Yes sir," replied another voice, lower, not as formal or rigid as the first. "There are more guards inside."

"Ah." A pause, and then, "What are your names - you two, in the room?"

The two guards inside turned - looked out into the corridor, at the faceless voice addressing them. After a moment, one of them said, "My name is Bao, sir. My partner is Wei."

"Very well, Bao and Wei. You're dismissed."

Bao paused, frowning, hiking his eyebrows. "Are you sure, sir? The prisoner might be dangerous - "

"I think I can handle him if he stirs up trouble, guard."

Trouble. Heh heh...yeah, sure, I would do just that, right. I grit my teeth and folded my hands between my legs, glaring down at them - felt sweat making my back slick, my face growing hot. I didn't know who my mystery visitor was, and it was _scary_ being in the dark like that. Hell, even his voice was intimidating. He said he'd be able to handle me - I've heard stories of military personnel making home calls and roughing up their 'favorites,' be it criminals that may have harmed them on some personal level, or prisoners who had been slippery and evasive to a point, just to rub their vulnerability in. I hadn't made any enemies like that, at least not that I remembered...

...oh. Dead soldiers from the slave line incident...okay, so maybe there were a few people who had it out for me. But really, I hadn't caused the fight at the garrison! That had been all Smellerbee, and all I did was steal a key and free some slaves. Unless somebody was able to make that connection and didn't care so much for the details - only that I'd assisted the renegade Earth Kingdom girl.

Oh man, oh _man_, this could go bad in so many ways.

After a moment's hesitation, shrugging at each other, my guards shuffled out of the room, saying to my visitor, "He's all yours, sir," before vanishing from sight. Okay. Okay, Spatula, keep your stuff together...it wasn't working. My hands shook, and my throat kept closing up on itself. I was in so much -

My visitor crossed the threshold into the room and slid the metal door shut behind him. I looked up instinctually - saw the uniform, shied away as I had done in the army, because uniforms meant authority and the authority hadn't liked me very much - but then, I scrolled up, saw - the face, with a narrow chin and accentuated cheek bones, hair trimmed short and kept into a topknot, his eyes a glimmering, golden color -

"Jiege!" I shot up to my feet, the chair squealing against the floor - it was him, it was Jiege! He'd found me! All of the tension and worry I'd been burdening myself down with evaporated, nonexistent, it didn't matter anymore because my big brother had come back into my life -

- but, but he didn't _smile_. He didn't give me that smile he had done when I was younger, where the corner of his eyes crinkled, and you could feel his love for you radiating outward, like the rays of the sun. I felt my heart do a somersault inside my chest - had that pride I figured he'd felt for me - had I been deluding myself? He stared at me, gaze hard, and said, "Sheng."

My name. My _old_ name, at least, I still went by Spatula even now, because even though I'd botched my chance with the Freedom Fighters, I'd learned too much from them to turn my back on their fantastic culture. There had been ice behind that word - a single word! - that I hadn't ever heard before, even when my older brother had to scold me.

I could already feel my resolve weakening, and I slumped back down into my chair - the floor was a lot more interesting all of a sudden, and it didn't glare back at you with eyes that you knew so well that still managed to be so foreign. My mind started buzzing, I could feel it in the back of my skull. All this time - I thought he would be happy to see me, but maybe...maybe I'd been too much of a dope. It wouldn't have been the first time.

This would be so different if he'd come to see me in the kitchen.

"It was true, I guess, when I got that letter from your unit saying you'd gone AWOL," Jiege said, clasping his hands behind his back. I fidgeted, bit my lower lip - I hadn't imagined our reunion unfurling like this. I mean...I guess the last time I'd really thought of seeing him in person, we'd both be successful in our own military divisions, and we'd be able to share stories of the war and all of our conquests. Different times. "They said you'd liberated some of the Earth Kingdom slaves your unit was collecting. That you put a coup into motion that cost several soldiers their lives."

"They say a lot of things," I mumbled, keeping my gaze on the floor.

"They also say you turned traitor." Jiege continued, and - I'd always _known_ that it was true, but hearing it put into words, given that sort of weight...for the first time since I'd abandoned my post I felt like, maybe I _had_ made a mistake. "That you ran off with some Earth Kingdom mutt."

I drew a deep breath - tried to find calm, to keep my thoughts straight, but everything Jiege said was true, and I didn't regret it, but oh Spirits, he thought I'd made a mistake _anyway_, and I wanted to, to say something in return, but my throat had sealed up and my tongue got fat and clumsy and nothing came out.

"You threw away your entire military career." It was hard to pick out Jiege's tone - partially because I couldn't think properly, but a lot of it had to do with the fact that I'd never heard him so cold, and I didn't know what to make of it. "You abandoned your nation and sided with the enemy. This is all true, right? Your unit wasn't lying?"

Say - say something, idiot! Come on - make your mouth work the way it's supposed to. But nothing came, just dry, hot air, and -

"Sheng, _is it true_?" I flinched, and this time I could at least hear a sharp, piercing quality to his tone, and - and he'd _never_ had to speak to me like that!

I stammered, a million thoughts scrabbling for purchase, trying to slip through and reach my tongue, everything from excuses to being indignant to playing stupid to, to - "Y - it - I - um, um - y-y-yes." My head grew heavy, and I wanted to look up at him, to be half as courageous as he was, but I couldn't, I just _couldn't_, he'd been my idol growing up and he didn't approve of...

"And your letters. The ones I started to receive a few months ago." Jiege's voice softened, but just barely, and I grabbed the sides of my head. "Those stories, of the orphaned children in the forest, where the leaves are red all year around. Are those true, too? Or did you just make them up?"

"Th-they're true." I licked my lips - they'd gone dry, I wasn't sure when.

Jiege paused, and at last pulled over another wooden chair that had been stuck in the corner of the room. He turned it around and sat down, and - and he said, "They were, huh? It sounds like a helluva place. I want you to tell me more about it...Spatula."

...Wait - what? His voice had gone light - and, and warm, and I _knew_ that tone, I _did_, and at last I brought my head up, looked at him properly - his eyes sparkled like they did when I was growing up, like they did the last time I saw him face-to-face, and a grin lighted his face. He crooked his head to the side and slung an arm over the back of his chair. And he'd called me by my new name! All of the tension, the nerves, I sloughed them off, it was excess weight I didn't need anymore, because Jiege didn't disapprove.

"You - you're such a dick, you know?" I laughed and shook my head. "I seriously thought you were mad at me!"

"Well..." Jiege looked away, at the wall, and he frowned. "At first...I guess I kind of was, when I first found out. I didn't understand it - you'd been more passionate than any other kid your age about serving the Fire Nation. But once I let it sink in...I stopped being angry, but I was still confused. And worried!" He gave a quick laugh. "Sudden, unexpected defection or not, you were still my little bro and I had no idea where you'd gone, or even if you'd abandoned your post willingly."

"Ah - um...sorry." I cleared my throat and added, "For making you worry, I mean. There were just - a lot of circumstances, and I couldn't write. I really wanted to, though!"

"You explained as much a few letters ago," Jiege said, smiling. "I'm just glad that you're okay, is all."

"Well, relatively speaking." I rolled my eyes, and Jiege laughed again.

Just like that - so quickly, so suddenly, I had my big bro back, and even though I was in prison, and my military career was ruined and I had screwed up with the Freedom Fighters, nothing could have been more right in the world.

"Now - there's one thing I absolutely have to ask you." Jiege shifted his weight and frowned again. "One thing that will help me make sense of this whole mess, because I still don't know if I get it."

"Shoot."

"Do you - was it worthwhile?" he asked, slowly, as if he might be treading onto a minefield. "Do you regret it?"

"Mmm?" I quirked my head. That was an easy answer - there wasn't any doubt, at least not anymore now that I knew he wasn't going to, like, disown me or something. No more of that second-guessing garbage. "If I had the chance to go back and do everything over again - knowing what I know now, and knowing what I knew then - I'd still do it. I did my best...I have no regrets."

Jiege smirked. "That's all I needed to know. As long as _you_ think you're doing the right thing...that's what's important."

I grinned.

"Now, tell me about these forest people of yours..."


	6. Bonus Chapter 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Bonus Chapter 3: He turned, and asked softly of me, "Wouldn't you?"**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

"Man...we're pretty far away from land, huh...?" I leaned forward, folding my arms over the edge of the courtyard wall, looking back towards shore - barely visible from here, just a flat piece of brown and green hugging the edge of the horizon. A warm sea breeze whistled past, combing through my hair. It was relatively quiet up here - no other inmates ever came up this way, they weren't allowed, because, well, it was too easy to jump over the edge and into the water from here. No, they were all down in the courtyard, going about their daily business.

Jiege laughed. "You'd better not be thinking about a jailbreak, little bro. I'm the one that got you out of that cramped room and up here so we could talk more, remember? Besides, if you bailed, I'd be the one that would have to bring you back."

That's one thing I'd always loved about Jiege: he was one-hundred percent serious (he _would_ get in trouble if I escaped and he _would_ bring me back here), but it was never a stern, parental sort of thing. As much as I would have liked getting out of this place, I didn't want to bring any of it down on Jiege's head. He was clever, though - I knew that he would have liked me to escape, to get out and go on with my life (because 'escaped convict' had nothing on 'deserter'), but he had a duty both as a naval officer and my older brother to make sure I stayed in line. Fair enough.

As fair trade, I hadn't told him any crucial information regarding the Freedom Fighters. I had my responsibilities, too. He knew they had music night, that only some of them could swim, and that they fought the Fire Nation where they could; he _didn't_ know exactly how many Freedom Fighters there were, or where Hong Ye forest was located, or their combat tactics. I wasn't a complete moron.

"You know, last I checked, you were still an ensign," I said, taking in a deep breath - smelling the sea salt, which barely eked in over the metallic tang of the prison and the oil of the nearby machinery. "Who did you have to kill to jump up to lieutenant commander?"

"I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you too, and then I'd wind up leaving in a bad mood, which would ultimately be counter-productive to the entire reason I took leave to visit you." He rolled his shoulders and head, trying to work out some cramps; his helmet sat on the wall between us, and his hair - tight and black and pulled up into a topknot - reflected the sun's light. I missed wearing a topknot...but I didn't really have the right to one anymore.

I chuckled in response to Jiege's faux-threat. "Seriously, though. Thanks for stopping by...and I'm really glad you've been getting my letters over the past couple months. I'd always hoped..."

"Always hoped what?"

"Nevermind, it was stupid." I leaned forward and sighed, glancing out at sea. "Mom and dad...do they know I'm here? And what about Zisi and Sheji?"

"I keep in touch with Zi and Ji as much as possible...even though Ji is a lot more receptive, but yeah, they know. As for mom and dad..." Jiege glanced away. "I sent word out to them, figuring you wouldn't have. I haven't heard back."

I grimaced. He was right - I hadn't even bothered sending anything to my parents since before going AWOL, but that was hardly unusual; they'd never been big on letter-writing unless somebody sent them something first, and even then their letters were stiff and informal and read like a shopping list. I was a terrible son, I realized - disappearing and then not even writing them when I had the opportunity. I sagged a little bit under that knowledge, and the fact that they hadn't replied to Jiege's letter might be legitimate cause for concern - either for their personal wellbeing, or for what, exactly, they thought about me.

When I didn't bother picking up where Jiege left off, he grunted and said, "They're doing fine, by the way - all four of them. Zisi got promoted to lieutenant in the 44th division in the south ocean, and Sheji's still busting her butt down on the clinic at Whale Tail Island. Sheji misses you especially. Zisi, though..."

"Zisi's got her own things going on." I gave an uncomfortable shrug. That was my second-oldest sister for you; she always laid her goals out in order of personal importance. I couldn't really blame her. "But mom and dad are doing good, then?"

"Yeah, they and Dimei are - "

He stopped short, and I looked at him, hiking an eyebrow. "They're what? And who's Dimei?"

Jiege slapped his forehead and cursed (I hadn't heard that one before - he must have picked it up from being out at sea for so long), muttering, "Of _course_ you wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't know _what_?" I asked. "Bro, just lay it out for me! I'm not that smart!"

Jiege drew a deep breath - sighed, drew another - and turned to look at me, and the expression on his face was so weird. Sad, sort of - but, but self-deprecating, annoyed, like he just -

"Dimei Zhen," Jiege said, "Is your new baby brother."

I jerked back - my arm bumped Jiege's helmet, jostling it, almost sending it spiraling into the ocean below, but I lunged out, grabbed it in time, slamming both hands onto the cold metal. "What - what do you _mean_, 'new baby brother?'"

"I mean what I mean." Jiege snorted. "Mom and dad had another kid."

"How...how long ago?" I brought one hand against my forehead, trying to massage out a headache that had suddenly ambushed me. "What the hell?"

"A few months after you went AWOL." Jiege shook his head. "None of us knew it was coming until after it had happened - Spirits know why they didn't bother telling us beforehand."

"Oh, man..." I slumped forward and sighed, giving up on the headache - it didn't want to go anywhere, like a visitor that just wouldn't leave, the metal wall cold and rugged against my forearms. "He's - he's like - fifteen years younger than me!"

"Just imagine what it's like for me." Jiege cringed. "I've got a brother who's young enough to be my son."

"How the hell do mom and dad still manage it?" I snorted and - and it was still hard to wrap my brain around the whole thing. "Actually, I take that back, I don't wanna know. I just hope they don't expect me to babysit, because I don't think the warden would like a little kid running around here. And I don't change diapers. And they're nuts if they think I'll work for free."

Jiege laughed again - and that sound helped cull the shock and the headache, just a little bit. It was still hard to believe, though...I had a little brother! I - it wasn't like I was jealous or anything, I'd always been the youngest, but I'd also been the youngest for my whole life and it wasn't like I was desperate for my parents' attention. I already knew I had it (and it wasn't like they'd neglected keeping only me in the loop about the baby), so it could be somebody else's turn and I wouldn't really care that much, but, just...wow.

A kid brother?

Maybe - maybe when my jail sentence was up. Maybe I could go visit him...be there for him like Jiege had been there for me, only this time _I_ would be the big bro. And Jiege could vouch for my storytelling.

Assuming my sentence was light enough to warrant that.

It probably wouldn't be. I hadn't heard.

"I guess I'll have to write them when I get the chance," I murmured, glancing out towards the shore again - freedom within sight, but unattainable.

"Yeah. And our sisters, too." Jiege play-punched me in the arm.

"Yeah."

There...there wasn't really anything else to say at this point. I could feel it now - our time was up, and there was only so much special treatment I could get from being the brother of a lieutenant commander in the navy. I had to go back to the life I'd stumbled into - back to cooking for people that earned me no redemption, to working out and hopefully maybe someday probably getting into shape, to sleeping, to eating slop. All these thoughts, combined with the view of the shore...suddenly, I felt sick inside, that my fate was to be locked up inside this box for Spirits knew how long. If I didn't escape, my little brother probably wouldn't even know who I was until _he_ was fifteen - just Sheng the traitor, locked up like he deserves.

"Bro..." Jiege said, breaking my reverie. I shook my head to clear away the thoughts bogging me down and glanced over to him - and I noticed that he, too, had turned his attention shoreward. "I can't do anything to help you, as much as I want to. As your brother, I wish I could break you out and set you free on the world so you can get your redemption, but as a member of the Fire Navy, my hands are tied. And I feel terrible for that."

"...Don't." I felt a grin lighting my face despite the lurching feeling inside my gut. "You have your own priorities. Don't throw away your career like I did."

"I thought you didn't regret doing that?"

"Not for a moment, but my military career would have been terrible anyway. You've got a good thing going for you." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Just promise me that you'll still always be my brother."

Jiege sighed - allowed himself a wry grin - straightened up, grabbing his helmet and sliding it over his head. As we began walking back towards the corridor that would take us down into the prison - back to where the other inmates were, down below, just one of the many criminals in ratty orange uniforms trying to make the most of the hours spent inside.

Down a staircase, enveloped on all sides by that rust-colored metal, a tight, suffocating walk...through corridors upon corridors, past guards who looked at me sideways with unmasked disdain, and at last we came to a junction in the hall - two more guards waited for me there, and my older brother turned to look at me with a wistless smile on his face. After a pause, he leaned forward and drew me into a hug - uncomfortable because of his armor, but I could still feel his warmth and all I could do was wrap my arms around him in return, because Spirits knew when the next time I'd see him would be.

"I'll keep writing," I whispered, and - and my throat tightened, my eyes plucked and stung and please don't be a wimp and cry...

"Me, too," Jiege replied - and at last, he released, and turned away without a second glance, and - going, going, just red and black armor - around a corner - gone. My big bro had left, and - and I wanted to break into a run after him, to yell, 'please don't go, I need you, I'm not strong by myself, I need your courage to keep me sane,' but the words didn't come, lodged somewhere between my brain and my tongue. All I could do was hang my head as the guards grabbed me and hauled me back to my cell.

Dammit.


	7. Chapter 4

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 4: The Creed: "Look out for those weaker than yourself"**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Come on, it'll be okay...it'll be okay."

Skillet wanted to curse, to scream, to yell, but all she could do was console - and even then, she wasn't sure if they were for her two young charges, or for herself. Because Spirits knew she needed it, after the last month's worth of events (_has it really been that long since Pipsqueak and The Duke returned?_), after their hectic escape, after - after Sneers, and the other children...

The only two she had managed to secret away were Bedrock and Wind-Up. A sickly nine-year-old girl with a heart of gold, and the youngest kid of the entire group, a five-year-old boy. Skillet was supposed to be the teacher of those children! She might not have been their leader, but her position and seniority gave her an undeniable responsibility to care for them, and she had to - to run away, like a coward, like she had when the Fire Nation killed her family, because Wind-Up and Bedrock would not have been able to survive. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but if a combat-trained monk like Sneers could fall in a battle to the man who had invaded the forest, what chance did an angry cook with a frying pan have?

Maybe - maybe she could have used the children's safety to fuel her on, to fight, to win...

...No, don't be stupid. She wasn't a warrior, end of story.

Cradling Bedrock in her arms, Skillet ran as fast as she dared through the outskirts of the forest, the pale-skinned girl resting with her eyes closed, her head crooked at an angle. The poor child was already exhausted, and - and there wasn't anything Skillet could do to tend to her, because the forest wasn't safe anymore, because -

"Miss Skillet," Wind-Up called from behind her, his breath short and voice ragged. "Please, my leg is cramping! Can we rest now?"

"I'm sorry, Wind-Up," Skillet said, using one of the voices in her teacher's reservoir - calming, encouraging, pushing him to be stronger. "We have to keep moving for a little while longer. We can rest soon, I promise. Can you keep running for me in the meantime?"

"Yeah," he said, and Skillet detected a smidgen of pride in his voice - of _course_ he could, he was such a brave boy, he'd keep running if Skillet asked him in earnest, and they couldn't stop now because the Overdweller had taken control -

The trees around them thinned so much that Skillet could no longer really say they were in the forest - and, as soon as the last of those trees dispersed, and they were in the clear, she stopped, stooping over and panting. Wind-Up plodded to a stop beside her, his face red and soaked with sweat, caked in dirt, his hair ruffled by the wind.

Now - now, where could they go? Skillet wanted to explode, to yell - to cry, to do _something_! - but the children needed her to be brave right now, because Sneers wasn't around to flaunt his arrogant courage. She could try to take them to the caves the Freedom Fighters used as a storage shelter, but the Overdweller might find out about them by bullying one of the others that _hadn't_ made it out. (While she was worried for all of the Freedom Fighters, she was most concerned for the younger ones, because...better not to think about it.) The underground reserve headquarters Jet had had built for winters or in the event that the treetop base actually got found by the Fire Nation presented the same problem...and she, personally, did not have any back-up places to take them. Her home, far away as it was, had been decimated in the war, and she doubted Bedrock could survive such a long and strenuous journey.

A dozen curse words of various intensities and ethnic flavors shuffled through her head like a deck of playing cards. She couldn't do the leader thing. That had always been a Jet-Sneers-Smellerbee deal, because there were just too many possibilities to consider and, in this case, not enough options worth the risk.

(_The children are worth the risk!_)

No. This time, they weren't, because if Skillet _died_ trying to fight the Overdweller (the concept got more and more laughable the more distance she placed between herself and the idea's inception), then who _would_ help them?

It was so hard to not break down and start crying. It would have left her feeling so much lighter.

"There! The woman that escaped!"

This time, Skillet _did_ curse, and she whipped her head around to see a trio of men - _adults!_ - struggling to break free of the forest, wearing filth-encrusted black tunics, the poster children for why regular bathing and good oral hygiene weren't optional. They served the Overdweller as flunkies - muscle, nothing more, but that was all that they needed, wasn't it? Reaffirming her grip on Bedrock, Skillet turned away and began running again, Wind-Up at her side without a word. The men would be able to catch up, though, Skillet _knew_ it. The trees wouldn't stop them for long. Skillet wasn't an athlete, and the men would close the distance and they'd try to hurt Bedrock and Wind-Up and, and, and already she could feel their hot breath on the back of her neck, a hand tangling in one of her pigtails while another grabbed for her tunic, and she yelled and Wind-Up was yelling too and and and and -

Suddenly, the men's grasp on her loosened and _their_ wails overrode hers, and Skillet felt herself stumbling; she whirled in time, falling on her butt, cradling Bedrock as firmly as possible. The man that had grabbed for her knelt on the ground a few yards away, holding his arms up into the air - soaked with blood, the hands severed at the wrists, leaving stumps. If Skillet hadn't been in survive-at-all-costs-fight-or-flight mode, she - she knew she'd be shocked, sickened, but she just didn't have that in her, not now.

The other two men - one clutching Wind-Up in a headlock - stopped to stare, first at their comrade, then at the person who had - had _saved_ Skillet and Bedrock - sitting on an ostrich horse, with a familiar, curved sword held backwards in one hand, head adorned with a straw hat, cheeks streaked with red paint -

"_Smellerbee!_" Skillet cried, feeling her cheeks tingle as a smile curled up on her face. The - the girl was alive! She was missing some of the armor and clothing the cook had last seen her wearing, replaced by others - but it was _her_! Oh thank the Spirits, she'd survived!

Smellerbee glared at the man holding Wind-Up; his grip slackened enough for the boy to open his mouth wide and sink his teeth into the filthy, fleshy bit between his captor's thumb and forefinger. The man howled and Wind-Up slipped free, skittering away and coming to a halt beside Skillet.

"You three think you're tough enough to pick on a cook and two kids?" Smellerbee said, her voice low and threatening. "Let's see if you've got the balls to square off against someone who can fight back."

"L-Lao! That's the boy who killed our brothers three years ago!" One of the uninjured men turned to the other, pointing at Smellerbee. "We're screwed if we stick around here!"

"Tch!" The other one, Lao, scowled and rubbed the spot where Wind-Up had bit him. "Fine, we're gone! But when the Overdweller hears about this, you're a dead man!"

Helping their wounded brother to his feet - the third man sobbing and yowling between them - they turned and ran, disappearing again between the trees of the forest.

Smellerbee snorted and spat on the bloodstained ground before turning her attention to Skillet and her charges. Her expression softened and she dismounted from her ostrich horse, landing in a crouch. "Are you okay? Skillet, what the hell is going on - "

"I could ask you the same thing," Skillet laughed. "You're supposed to be dead - you and Jet and Longshot, you jerk!"

A soft smile crossed Smellerbee's face, and - and, for a moment, the cook saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. She tilted back the hat with her free hand - a hat that, Skillet realized, was surprisingly similar to Longshot's old one. "Well, you're at least a third wrong."

She glanced at the sword in her hand - Skillet followed her gaze, eyebrows hiked, and - and, they were _his_, there couldn't be any doubt - and before she could say anything about it, Wind-Up chirped, "Those're Jet's swords!"

They _were_. The sadness in Smellerbee's eyes did not fade; wordlessly, she sheathed the sword onto her back and extended her arms to Skillet. The cook passed the still-sleeping Bedrock off to the tomboy, and, hands free, pushed herself up into a standing position, stepping on the hems of her pants and almost tripping again. The pigtail that the man had grabbed had come undone, getting into her eyes, brushing her earlobe.

"Jet and Longshot didn't make it, did they...?" Skillet murmured, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear and glancing at the distant treetops, crimson red and brushy from this distance. "That's why - the swords, and the hat..."

"I don't know if Longshot is alive or not." Smellerbee shook her head. "We escaped Ba Sing Se together and we spent most of the last two months getting here - then we ran into the Rough Rhinos and I...I messed up. Longshot got hit with an arrow to the belly and I got knocked out - when I woke up, he and the Rough Rhinos were gone. No body or anything."

"So, Jet...?"

She hung her head - her eyes obscured by - by Longshot's hat, Skillet _knew_. That sadness vanished, obscured by a mask only that piece of familiarity could provide. "Yeah. We were with him to the end."

Skillet had nothing. She - she wanted to say, to say _something_ - but what would do justice? Smellerbee had known Longshot and Jet for years, had been closer to them than any other Freedom Fighter. Closing her eyes, she mumbled, "I'm sorry," and left it at that - keeping it simple.

"It's...alright." Smellerbee drew a deep breath and glanced back up at Skillet, and the cook found herself locking gazes with an entirely different person; hard-faced and with eyes of ice, Smellerbee set her lips into a flat line and asked instead, "Now you have to tell _me_ something. What's going on with the three stooges there? Why were _you_ being chased out of _our_ forest?"

This different Smellerbee had shed the sadness and mourning so suddenly that Skillet found herself caught off-guard by the question; she shook her head, tucking renegade strands of hair behind her ear again when they refused to stay put. "We're in trouble," she began, shaking her head and frowning. "A goon calling himself the Overdweller invaded the forest a few days ago. Sneers knew about it right away - we'd been keeping up on our patrols - and went to head him off personally, because the Overdweller kept a huge sword on him. I - I don't know of the specifics, but somehow the Overdweller knew about the hideout, all of us, and had come to depose Sneers. Before I knew it, he and his men had Sneers with his hands tied behind his back, leading him to the center of the base; I managed to stay out of sight, I knew something was wrong...and, I didn't see it myself, but Wind-Up said that they forced him to make the others submit to them." She felt her voice shaking, and her eyes began to sting. "I don't know what the _hell_ that idiot is thinking, but he - he wouldn't endanger the other Freedom Fighters, so there must be _some_ logic behind it..."

Smellerbee sighed and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "How did you three get away?"

"I didn't do anything, really, not at first." Skillet placed a hand on Wind-Up's head, a warm smile crossing her face, the familiar warmth of pride radiating out from her core - a welcome deterrent to the toll the Overdweller had put on her mind and body. "Wind-Up snuck away from the Overdweller and was courageous enough to save Bedrock from her hut before she could be found. They came to me, and I...well, I ran. We managed to keep from being found for the past four or five days, but those three stumbled across us before I could..."

"Lead the children out," Smellerbee whispered, and for a moment that soft grin had returned. "You did fine. You kept them alive, and you can't ask for anything more of a good leader."

"It's not my place," Skillet admitted, chuckling and scratching her cheek. "I'll leave that to Sneers. Or you."

Smellerbee shrugged. "It's something he and I'll have to resolve later, isn't it? For the time being, I'm going to take this Overdweller down and I'll need Sneers and the others' help. Do we know _anything_ about him and his men?" She knelt down and set Bedrock's feet on the ground, quietly urging the girl to open her eyes. "I mean - are they benders? Do they specialize in a particular kind of weapon? Those three said they knew me, but...I dunno, I've killed a lot of bandits."

"I - " Skillet glanced back to the forest, then turned her gaze back to Smellerbee, biting her lower lip. "Telltale said he saw Overdweller beat Sneers without using any bending or weapons. He didn't even use that sword."

"Doesn't eliminate anything, but it gives me a direction to go in, in any case." Smellerbee shook her head, her shaggy mane whipping underneath Longshot's hat. "Does he have any other cronies, or just those three?"

"More than that," Wind-Up chimed in, taking Skillet's fingers into his chubby hands. "There were like a billion zillion!"

"Mmm. I think I can handle those odds." Smellerbee fixed Wind-Up with a roguish smirk and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm the invincible Smellerbee, after all. Right?"

(_Where had Skillet seen that grin before?_ _She swore it looked familiar, but she couldn't remember where it came from._)

"Yeah!"

"Yeah," Bedrock agreed, her fair, cocoa-colored hair floating behind her - Skillet was amazed at how it seemed like she was floating in water, it was a unique trait that only this amazingly strong-willed child seemed to have. Skillet saw the sickness on her face (pale skin, shadows under her eyes) and heard it in her voice (weak and frail and ready to give out), but she still smiled, she still lived on. She reached into the pocket of her torn, baggy blue pants, withdrawing something with a closed fist; she held the fist out to Smellerbee, and the young warrior's eyebrows shot up beneath Longshot's hat. She cupped her hands beneath Bedrock's; the younger of the two overturned her fist and spread her fingers wide, a small pendant tied to a leather cord slipping free from her palm.

"Bedrock..." Smellerbee murmured, eyes falling on the object cradled in her hands, before returning her gaze to the younger girl. "This is - "

"My good luck charm," Bedrock said, smiling (and Skillet felt that warm pride welling up inside again, so strong and sudden this time that she felt ready to burst - her eyes burned, vision gone blurry all over again, and her children were so brave and _kind_). "My mommy and daddy gave it to me before the Fire Nation came. They said it was a tooth from a baby whale shark, and I was wearing it when Wind-Up saved me. I - I can't do much to help, but..."

Oh, the want to _hug_ the child...!

Smellerbee looked at the fang once more - a yellowing, razor-edged triangle (thin and long like a snake's fang) against her worn, no-longer-white gloves, before moving close to Bedrock and wrapping her arms around her, giving a gentle squeeze.

Smellerbee had - had never been much of a physical contact sort of person, at least not so intimately. She doled out affection in arm-punches, and hugging was...it was big, bigger than Skillet. Longshot may well have opened his mouth and spoken. At long last, Skillet felt the walls inside her breaking down, and she sniffled as tears squeezed past her hastily-erected barriers and began to roll down her cheeks.

The hug was brief, for the sake of Bedrock's frailty, but the power behind it had touched Skillet in a way she hadn't been so since the other Freedom Fighters left the forest. As Smellerbee stood up, tying the cord around her neck, she turned her attention back to Skillet, the warrior's face once more set into that neutral expression. (But Skillet swore - she _swore_ - that a hint of the...the love, power, joy, that Smellerbee had experienced jointly with the cook, still lingered behind those cold eyes that let nothing in.)

"I've got to go. Is there anything else you can tell me before I leave?" She asked, finishing the knot and giving the necklace a light tug to make sure it was securely locked in place.

"I don't have anything solid, but...but I don't think this guy killed Sneers." Skillet shook her head. "In fact, I'd bet on it. He's absolutely nuts, and as a teacher who's had to deal with all sorts of behavioral issues, I'm at a loss for his motives. All I can ask is that you save Sneers and the others and give this Overdweller a swift kick to the crotch for me."

"Count on it." Smellerbee nodded, paused for a moment, and - so suddenly that Skillet didn't even register it happening - had pulled the cook in for a hug as well, this one tight and full of a strange, professed friendship that Skillet had never encountered before. "I'm glad you're okay, Skillet. Gimme enough time and I'll set this mess right."

Skillet nodded, whispered, "It's great to see you too, Bee," and returned the hug, burying herself in it because this was part of the old life healing, moving on, after the past season and a half. She clapped the younger girl on the shoulder. "Kick ass and take names, huh?"

Pulling away, Smellerbee flashed that familiar roguish grin again. "Damn straight."

Parting from the cook, Smellerbee glanced away and whistled; another ostrich horse, out of Skillet's line of sight this whole time, whinnied and trotted up next to the swordswoman. Grabbing its reins, Smellerbee cooed at it, "Easy, girl. Good girl, Fletcher. I have an important job for you."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Head to Bi Nan, it's about four miles south of here," Smellerbee explained, craning her head back to meet Skillet's eyes, the older girl sitting precariously in a saddle meant for one, but currently occupying three. "They're occupied by the Fire Nation, and they're sympathizers, but their military influence isn't strong enough to keep a couple of children out. Play up Bedrock's sickness, too - that'll get you in for sure. The Overdweller _shouldn't_ look for you there, especially if he's as hard-on for bullying and fighting as you say he is. There's a local shrine that will give you sanctuary and food - if you help with their chores, they'll maintain their hospitality. And that shouldn't be a problem for the best chef in the world."

Fletcher did not buck or sway under the weight of Skillet and her two young charges. The ostrich horse seemed to know her delicate load and realize Skillet's nervousness as the poor girl white-knuckled the leather reins clamped in Fletcher's beak.

"Is that really a good idea, staying so close to the forest?" Skillet asked, although Smellerbee could tell how much she'd rather not bring the point up. A further journey meant a longer ostrich horseback ride, and Smellerbee felt a tiny grin drawing on her face.

"It's the safest option, given who you're traveling with." Crossing her arms over her chest, the sun bright in the sky and blotted out by the brim of the straw hat that smelled like _him_, she whistled for Surestance, her own steed sidling up beside her. "Fletcher's a smart beastie - I'm pretty sure she and Surestance were put where we found them on purpose. Fate or something like that. Spirits, maybe, but that's not quite how they operate."

"I thought you didn't believe in the Spirit World?"

She gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Times change."

"Sorry."

"No, it's alright. But Fletcher's not going to do you wrong. She'll go careful for you, and she won't buck you or anything." Crooking her head to the side, she added, "Just be sure to feed her some red apples, or she gets cranky. I have no idea why - Surestance doesn't like the things."

Skillet gulped, but nodded, and damned if Smellerbee couldn't see her heart thundering in her chest like a hummingbird's wings. The poor girl was tenacious as hell with an attitude the swordswoman definitely had an appreciation for, but when it came to heights and, apparently, riding ostrich horses, even she had limitations.

Lodging her foot into one of Surestance's stirrups, Smellerbee hoisted herself up into his saddle, grabbing the reins. "I'll send for you guys when everything is clear. It might take a few days, so be patient, okay?"

"You got it." Skillet turned Fletcher around, aiming south, and said, "Good luck, Bee."

"You too. Catch you on the other side."

She flicked the leather straps, and Surestance took off, charging full bore into the familiar turf that had at one point been Smellerbee's home.

She had imagined her homecoming would be something to be celebrated; Smellerbee and Longshot, returning to the forest after triumphing over that which had killed their leader and friend, and all the trials they had faced along the way. In her version, there had been fanfare and a feast, celebrating the first step towards reuniting the Freedom Fighters, the first step in saving the world without the Avatar's aid, and Sneers would...well, he'd be upset, but it would be a familiar kind of upset, and that would have been great because his flusteredness would be just like old times, and she would tease him for it (and vice versa).

That had been a naive tunnel dream. Longshot wasn't here, and Sneers was captured or possibly worse (Smellerbee couldn't afford Skillet's optimistic hunch), and there ultimately wouldn't _be_ a feast. Even though there'd been a few good meals along the way, nothing beat Skillet's culinary mastery. Here, now, in Hong Ye Forest, Smellerbee was a foreign agent - a disease, a sickness that this lunatic Overdweller would try to cure himself of. Ironic, right?

Well, good freakin' luck to him. Because Smellerbee had at least one edge on the Over-nutcase, and that was the home field advantage. She had spent most of her life jumping, swinging, hiding, sparring and living amongst these trees, and she knew it better than any certified wacko who just dropped in and decided to claim the place for himself. He'd have to have some powerful stuff to out-trump _that_.

(And she could be a persistent illness, where necessary. Or at least that itch in the center of your back you could never reach.)

The trees engulfed her from all sides and she navigated Surestance through them with body leaning forward, eyes narrowed against the wind. The familiar scent of honey welled up against her nostrils, and - and, yes, she was _home_, she was back at last, and the Overdweller had better watch out for Crimson-Faced Smellerbee.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

They kept her arms bound at the wrists, behind her back - to keep her from Earthbending, from escaping, from - they'd even taken away her tool belt, Mortar had _given_ it to her -

Pestle bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing. She was hungry, her shoulders were sore, and her throat had gone dry, there wasn't any light in this place and she'd been locked in here for - how long? Days, probably, so hard to tell, time just kind of slipped away when there wasn't any light and when her captors only came in once in a while to give her water and a little bit of stale bread, sporadically at that.

'Here' was a closet in Skillet's classroom. Wood on all sides, the boards pressed together tightly enough to keep any sunlight from getting in (Pestle would know, she helped build the place). A few shelves of supplies - ink wells, quills, parchment, scrolls, chalk, et cetera - framed her on either side, and Spirits it was so cold and _dark_ in here. The chalk's odor - dry, stale - made her nose itch, she didn't like the scent of the stuff at _all_, and she'd have asked her captors to get rid of it if she thought they'd listen - they probably wouldn't. They would just laugh. And it was so quiet in here - hushed, as if the world didn't exist beyond the walls of the closet, though occasionally she'd pick up the muffled sounds of people talking, the clopping footsteps of the people who brought her water, their chatter much clearer the closer they became.

Her eyes hurt - dry, all the way in the back, and her cheeks had gone stiff, were covered with trails of salt. She couldn't actually _cry_ anymore, because she'd done it so much while locked up in here, because worry gnawed at her and left her frayed, like the end of a rope that had started to come undone. She was alone! She didn't have Mortar to help her through this, Mortar was - was out _there_, Mortar had had the guts to stand up to the Overdweller when Sneers made the others submit to him, and Pestle had just hung back, scared, a coward, and for Mortar's effort they - they broke her arm, and when even _that_ didn't sway her - just when Mortar began to, to drum up charisma, support from the others, and Pestle finally felt herself ready to jump in there, to do something to not be useless - hands, strong, adult hands, grabbed her, pinned her down, and a, a blade, rusty and chipped but still sharp enough to cut the skin, pressed to her throat - could still feel the grain against her skin even now, how damaged the edge had been - and they'd taken her, told Mortar that if she didn't cooperate, then they'd kill Pestle, and, and, that had put an end to that, everyone else who had been ready to take up arms dropped back, and, and!

Pestle didn't know if Mortar was still okay, and - and she'd been such a scaredy-cat, letting Mortar fight without doing anything. Her captors were - mouthy enough, really - sometimes, when they came to give her water, they'd tell her how useful she was being, the perfect blackmail bait, and that they didn't _need_ to hurt her, just keep her secreted away for...

...for how long? She knew she could starve to death, she wasn't a kid anymore and she'd seen some Freedom Fighters - who hadn't been much younger than herself at the time - die during that one winter, starved and _frozen_. And she didn't want to die because - because she needed Mortar, and Mortar needed Pestle in return, and - !

No. Okay. Calm down, Pestle, calm down - Mortar might not be _here_, but Pestle still had her support, always and forever. Nothing would keep them apart. And...and there _had_ to be a way out here, right? But what if - what if she left, they hurt Mortar even more...? That was a huge risk to take, but...but waiting here, so hungry - it'd been torture and she couldn't take anymore and she couldn't be a whimpering coward. Mortar was depending on her, and if she had to - if Pestle wanted to make it up to her sister, make up for the fact that she'd chickened out when Mortar really _needed_ her...

Still - her wrists were bound, and for all she knew, the bandits - Sneers had called them bandits - had locked her in, and she had no idea how to pick a lock, let alone in the dark. Maybe if they'd left her with her tools, she could have broken the lock with a hammer and chisel, but...no, no buts. Pestle clenched her jaw and expelled a breath through her nose. Escape. You've _got_ to escape, because you're useless to Mortar in here. One step at a time! Focus. The rope around her wrists had to go first, and - and maybe there was something in here that she could use to cut it? But what? It wasn't like they kept knives or saws or anything in the closet used for school supplies.

What she wouldn't give for some earth - small enough for her to use with her limited range of motion. There was always the foundation the school sat on, but it was out of sight and she doubted she could bend it with her arms behind her back. There had to be something! There -

The chalk.

The stinky, dry, dusty chalk! Chalk was made from stone! She scrunched her eyes tight - she made a scooping motion with one hand, trying to bend a piece to her - she heard something shuffle and clatter from just to her right - another scooping motion, and she saw a pale streak liberate itself from a wooden box, and, and, _yes_ - !

It took some work - whittling and hardening the chalk, reshaping it so it had an edge, a makeshift knife - grunting, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, Pestle worked at it with bound hands until finally it _looked_ sharp enough to slice through the rope. All she had to do now was - use the chalk - saw it back and forth, careful not to cut herself - the stone and rope hissed against each other, and - suddenly - no more tension -

Gasping, Pestle yanked her hands apart, the chalk-knife clattering to the wood. She stood up - stretched - rolled her shoulders - trying to will away the sores, how stiff her body had become, but it felt so _good_ to be unbound, and now - she'd taken the first step, she'd made it - okay, hadn't really _made_ it, but she was that much closer to freedom.

Freedom.

Yeah. Yeah, she could do that. Now all she needed was a way out of here - and she already had _that_, it lay just below her feet, only a few inches away and hidden out of sight. As Pestle hunkered down, clutching at the air with bent elbows and curled fingers, she thought to herself how loud this would be - how she'd probably give herself away - but fine, _let_ them figure it out, if they didn't have her then there was nothing they could do to keep Mortar in line anymore and all Pestle needed to do was let her know somehow. Clenching her jaw again, she wrenched upward, and the floorboards squealed - protested - yelped as they were torn apart, splinters and dust pelting the Earthbender, the noise cacophonous enough to pierce her ears, make her flinch - but in, in from the back wall flooded sunlight, bright and painful to look at, but beautiful, she'd fought for and earned her freedom and she'd show just how brave she could be and save Mortar. Squinting, Pestle stumbled past the slab of rock that had erupted through the floor - backhanded the air, making a stone spire jut up against the door, pinning it closed - and masked her eyes, outside, where the air was warm but not stifling, where nature still sang despite the serious nature that had been cast over the forest, where -

A hand

Clamped on her arm, over her mouth

Oh _no_

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Wait.

That's all he could do now, and Sneers _hated_ it. His body kept sending him signals that it should hurt, should ache from being left shackled to a tree for four days, but he kept tuning those warnings out, because as soon as he opened his mind to the aches and pains, they would overwhelm him and attack every muscle. As a monk-in-training, he had been forced to stand for long periods of time, but at least he'd had the freedom to move around then; here, the metal bonds around his wrists kept him so close to the great tree emerging through the floor of the dining hall that the most he could do was shift his neck - and even _that_ suffered from the dull, throbbing hurt.

At least they fed him and gave him water. He supposed, with a hint of bitterness, he was better off alive and well than as a completely dejected prisoner.

There wasn't much else. Occasionally the Overdweller would approach him with questions - sometimes about the children, the ones too young and unskilled to fight, but more often about the Freedom Fighters' supplies. At first, Sneers sandbagged with the egocentric maniac, but - but that hadn't worked, really, because somehow the bastard knew that Sneers cared for the wellbeing of the children more than he himself. He'd had his goon squad (a collection of bandits, hodgepodge and ramshackle and probably infested with more parasites, insects and diseases than the most disgusting swamp boar) drag Flitter away from the hard labor the girl had been sentenced to and - and threatened to break her _arm_, just like they'd done with Mortar, and Sneers _had_ to talk to keep them from doing it, and -

- and the safety of the children always came _first_. That had not changed, and for the first time, Sneers absolutely couldn't stand himself for it. As long as the children remained in harm's way, the Overdweller had the monk by the balls. Sneers didn't even know if the Overdweller had hurt any more of them, had no way of knowing if Spike or the others had tried (failed?) to fight back against them, and - and he hadn't seen Skillet since before being deposed...

No, it wasn't what he wanted to do. He would have preferred to headbutt the jerkbelly, then get under him and body-check him into the air, and then maybe break his kneecaps - no, wait, the kneecap-breaking should come first. Yeah, that'd make the whole thing hurt more for the bastard, and in blocking out the impending soreness, the monk found himself well-stocked in vengeance. Maybe this is what it felt like to be Jet: so angry at his shortcomings that the need to lash out at those who crossed him couldn't be reined in.

The revelation unnerved him. He used to think he was so much better than Jet for his control, for his ability to see clearly from point A to point B without a vendetta...but the current context had clobbered the monk with the Perspective Brick, and suddenly Sneers found himself knocked clear from his holier-than-thou perch.

Sitting in a high-backed, wooden chair at the head of the dining hall, perpendicular to Sneers, sat the object of his loathing - the Overdweller, a tall sonuvabitch wearing a faded brown longcoat with trim that had been a pristine, golden fabric at one point - it had since become so filth-encrusted that it lost its glimmer and sheen. With a long face and pronounced cheekbones, he must have been in his forties; long, oily black hair clung to his scalp and dangled in rattails down around his shoulders, thinning and filthy. One eye peered past his curved, beak-like nose, black and beady and unreadable; the other, beyond the monk's line of sight, remained hidden by an eye patch. (Sneers couldn't really tell if he needed it or not - he was eccentric, unpredictable, and for all the monk knew, it was a style choice. A _dumb_ one. The Freedom Fighters had better fashion sense than this guy, and they only had a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs to work with.) Lanky to the point of almost being scrawny, it was a surprise he could actually - actually _fight_, and well enough to beat Sneers hand-to-hand.

If Smellerbee ever found out he'd lost to this wiry sociopath, she'd tease him to the end of the world and back. The thought made him grimace.

Slouching in the chair - a fancy thing of Fire Nation craftsmanship, with ornate armrests and legs shaped like sinewy, twisting dragons that doubled and redoubled back upon each other - the Overdweller held in one hand a calligraphy brush, up near his chin, gnawing on the handle absent-mindedly. The brush dripped, wet with ink that went unused, splattering on his pant legs, droplets spraying onto the scales of the dragons laying claim to the armrests. On a low, beat-up table in front of the chair lay a pile of scrolls, mostly blank, but from here Sneers could make out the scrawled listings of a madman creating his own order in a society that hadn't needed one before. The Freedom Fighters had grown accustomed to their _own_ way of life, to following the Creed as guidelines, and the Overdweller scribing a twisted charter to enforce something much - harsher, restricting, not Freedom at _all_, just...he didn't have the _right_ to do that! It was a perversion, a sick man's ego pushing itself onto children who couldn't do anything to stop him.

"Boss! Boss Overdweller!"

Sneers raised his head, blinking slowly - some of the bandits cowering beneath the bastard (because they didn't actually _follow_ him; the Overdweller led by fear and chose his path through madness) approached from the far end of the dining platform, one dangling between the other two - their grimy tunics and pants stained dark and wet with blood. The one in the middle didn't move, his feet dragging on the wood and his head hanging low - and it took a few seconds, but Sneer realized that the man had no _hands_, that his arms hung over his comrades' shoulders and ended in seeping stumps. Despite his initial reaction, nausea tugging at his throat, he smirked. Good. The monster had it coming.

"What is it?" The Overdweller growled, his eye locked on the boughs of the forest overhead. "I told you fools not to bother me. I'm working on my list of laws for the children to obey."

"We found the woman who escaped - " Sneers drew a sharp breath (Skillet and Mama Marlin were the only ones old enough to actually be considered women, but the latter had been amongst the group of Freedom Fighters Sneers had been forced to surrender leadership in front of) and struggled to keep the glimmer of interest off his face. " - and she has two of your children with her. The other three are still unaccounted for, though."

"Bitch," Overdweller murmured, as if it were an afterthought. The - the bastards, Sneers felt heat surging through his body, his face, his ears, his breath tight in his chest, he wanted to hurl himself at the man, to yell and scream and punch the message into him, _they aren't __your__ children, you aren't taking care of them, you're subjugating them, treating them like slaves!_, but - no, have to _wait_, keep your wits about you, Sneers, or else the creep has already won. His grin curled into a scowl as he bit down the urge to say something that could work against his precious charges. At least six of his Freedom Fighters had escaped. "Did you capture them and bring them back as I instructed?"

"A-actually, Boss Overdweller, a boy on an ostrich horse came and saved them before we could - "

The Overdweller was on his feet instantly, knocking over the table, his scrolls thrown to the wind and his ink pot shattering at his feet, staining the wooden platform and the toes of his boots a shimmering black. Livid, he clenched a gloved fist and scowled, glaring at his underlings. "Idiots! I _need_ the woman and those children! Without them, we are incomplete! Go back out there and _find them_!"

Flecks of spit flew from the sides of the Overdweller's mouth, his voice raising an octave on the last two words. Sneers narrowed his eyes. Was the idiot blind in _both_ eyes? Didn't he see that the middle of the three was wounded and in shock from blood loss?

One of the bandits had been following Sneers' train of thought (another unnerving discovery, but one that shouldn't have surprised him) and chose to pursue it. "But sir - the boy cut off Pong's hands, he - he needs help, he's dying - "

The Overdweller's gaze shifted, at last, to the injured bandit between his two partners. Settling his right hand on the hilt of the broadsword hanging on the same hip, the would-be tyrant moved slowly towards the bandits, closing the remaining distance between them, each step heavy and cautious, as if planned in advance and part of an intricate dance. At last, he came to a stop in front of the injured man, and with his free hand (fingertips stained by the ink), he tilted the bandit's head back. The Overdweller pursed his lips, brow furrowed - as if scrutinizing the man, whose eyes had gone wide and distant, face pale and slick with sweat.

"Poor baby," the Overdweller crooned, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Did you get a boo-boo? Do not worry, the Overdweller will make you feel all better."

Sneers drew a tight, hot breath through his nose - he _knew_ what was coming, the two idiots thought the Overdweller would help their partner, that bringing him to their _lunatic_ boss after _failing a mission he was quite clearly passionate about succeeding_.

The injured man's eyes quivered, pupils dilated - he didn't have long, he'd gone into shock and he'd die soon anyway, and - and then his head jerked back, eyes rolled up into his skull, white and round and blood leaked from the corners of his mouth, and - and something _shimmering_ under his tongue -

The Overdweller drew his hand back; a small blade, no longer than eight inches, pressed flat against his palm and streaked with red, emerged from the bandit's jaw. The man fell completely slack between his two partners, sliding free of their grasp and landing with a _thunk!_ to the wood. Sneers' eyes widened, he'd seen the man's execution coming a mile away, but not like - not like that, not so subtly! He knew he shouldn't feel, feel _anything_ for these monsters, but the Overdweller's cold-hearted cruelty jilted something in the monk's chest, something he wasn't comfortable in feeling. The monk pressed his mouth into a flat line - if nothing else, the Overdweller had just lost a surprise attack he might have used against Sneers for their impending rematch. Because it _would_ happen, and this time, Sneers would win.

"Summon the children." The Overdweller hissed, turning on a heel and hunching his shoulders. He scowled so deep that the corners of his mouth almost looked ready to vanish off the sides of his face, and the blade in his palm sunk back into his sleeve. When the two remaining henchmen hesitated, glancing nervously at each other instead of complying, the Overdweller threw his head back and screamed. "_I SAID __**SUMMON. THE. CHILDREN!**_"

The two living bandits turned, ran, their partner left dead on the dining hall. Sneers drew another deep breath, his mind churning, tingling; he clamped down on the raw emotions scraping his skull, the cold facts piercing his brain, trying to piece together what he'd just learned. Skillet was out there somewhere and - and she had two of the kids with her. Good. Good, that was great, because - because as long as she was still free, there was a chance. Somebody had saved her from the bandit trio, somebody who - who might just be a good enough soul to come to the Freedom Fighters' aid. Hopefully. All he could do was wish that -

- he couldn't finish his thought, because the Overdweller had crossed over to him. The monk hadn't even noticed, trying to separate what he needed to know from the emotional wringer he'd been shoved through. The man leaned so close that his breath was hot and rancid in Sneers' face, his one eye wide had gone wide and was focused sharply on the monk. "You think you're clever, allowing the wench and her brats to escape, yes you do, but I'm wise to your game! I shall not let such lackadaisical behavior stand long amongst my men! Your ilk will be _found_, we will be _complete_, and you, yes, _you_ will watch as I administer care to those children like you could only _dream_! Yes yes yes yes!"

(_Nothing nothing say __nothing__ or risk winding up like the handless bandit, a spring-blade through the jaw_)

Dammit! There was nothing he could _do_, nothing to be done, and and and and just _glower_, keep stoic or else they might - might do worse to the children than break Mortar's arm, and it was so _frustrating_! Just, just...

The others came first.

Turning away, the Overdweller threw his arms up into the air. "Without those _six_, we aren't _complete_, and without being complete we cannot move forward, no, evolution will be _denied_ to us! I _will_ have them and you will watch and envy as I do what you _wish_ you could do, I will raise these children with my ultimate vision, yes yes yes!"

With that, he stalked off, vanishing from the dining hall - to do what, Sneers didn't know. He was gone at last, alone, and he let himself sag as much as his shackles would allow.

How much longer _could_ he wait? The man was absolutely out of his mind! If he could just get the children to safety - move them somewhere, somewhere safe, where the Overdweller couldn't find them right away, then he could - could fight back, could...

"Wow, that guy _is_ crazy, Skillet wasn't kidding."

Sneers whipped his head up too suddenly, and his scalp smashed into the tree behind him; cursing, he scowled and scrunched his eyes shut. "Who the hell's there?"

"Come on, Sneers, it's only been a season and a half. You can't be _that_ forgetful." And - and Sneers _knew_ that voice, he knew it because it was -

- Smellerbee jumped away from the tree branch she'd been hiding on, landing in a crouch in front of Sneers, a wiry smirk on her face.

"Stinkbug!" Sneers exclaimed, an unfamiliar, tickling sensation working its way up through his gut; he, he felt his cheeks tingle, he'd smile, dammit, he _hated_ laying his emotions out so openly, but, but she was supposed to be dead and she _wasn't_, she was here and free and she could, she could _help_! "You're alive!"

"I've been getting that a lot lately," the swordswoman admitted, tilting her head to the side. "It looks like you've seen better days, though. Gimme a second and I'll pop you free of those shackles."

"Wait - no, stop - _listen_," Sneers cut in, stamping a foot, drawing the girl's attention away from the metal bonds and back to his face. This was all coming so suddenly that, that he didn't have time to register anything else about the swordswoman, it was more important to make sure that she _knew_. "I can't go just yet. If I escape, that lunatic will hurt the others."

"...hmm." Smellerbee crossed her arms over her chest and let her eyes flicker to the body of the bandit lying a few yards away. "He could be bluffing."

"He isn't," Sneers insisted, leaning his head forward. "He broke Mortar's arm when she tried to lead the others to fight back against him. I don't even know if the others are in one piece, and if - if Bedrock is still here, she - "

"Don't worry." Smellerbee shook her head. "Wind-Up helped her escape before they could be found by the Overdweller. Both of them are with Skillet, and they're heading to Bi Nan. They won't be able to find them there, at least not yet."

"Thank the Spirits for small victories," Sneers murmured, earning a nod of agreement from Smellerbee. "There's still three more that the Overdweller hasn't captured yet - I have no idea which ones, or where they are...you must have been the one to cut off that guy's hands, then."

"Oh, yeah." Smellerbee shrugged. "Idiots thought they could outrun me. I gave 'em a head start, but I know the forest better _and _I have an ostrich horse now. Following them was cake."

Silence fell between them, and Sneers' mind continued to churn - thought after thought running through his head, so many important things to say but not enough time (could there _ever_ be enough time now? It's not often a comrade in arms returned from the dead, after all) - and, and there was just such a big jumble that figuring out where to start was tasking enough. At last, though, his brain grasped something - he wrestled with it, found it, and pulled the thought free like unearthing a stubborn turnip.

"You should go. The Overdweller's going to be back soon." Sneers narrowed his eyes. "I can hold my own for now. As long as you're out there, we have a chance."

Smellerbee's expression changed from ponderous to - to, what, ireful? Something like that, but there was a sheet of ice behind that, and the combination made Sneers' head throb. The swordswoman hadn't been a frost queen before leaving. "What the hell happened to you? You used to be a little more gung-ho about kicking butt."

"I have other concerns in mind," Sneers retorted, twisting his head away. "The others, remember? I - I can't fight when they're in the crossfire. If you can find some way to save them - secret them away from the forest in pairs, gradually, then I'll be glad to help you - "

"We don't have time for that sort of crap," Smellerbee shot, and Sneers winced, the statement - a fact, he hated to admit even _that_ - piercing and oiled and cold and sharp, like one of Longshot's arrows. "We need something faster and more efficient. The risk will be higher, yes, but if we take down the Overdweller's mook squad before they can do anything, then all of a sudden it's you and me and the others versus him, and I think I like those odds. If we do it slowly, he'll notice - and then he'll take it out on our friends _anyway_. It's a matter of immediate versus gradual risk, and if we go for the faster option, he'll be off his guard and won't be able to formulate a counter-plan."

"What, do you have something up your sleeve, then?" He turned his attention back to the swordswoman, scowling, feeling heat rise up from his stomach - angry, so _angry_, the emotional wringer not going away, always pulling him through and through and through; what the hell did she think she was doing, trying to cut in on his leadership like this? "Unless you've got Longshot up in the trees and he's capable of hitting a dozen targets at once - "

Smellerbee turned away. "No, I don't have Longshot."

And, and then - Sneers felt his mind slow down enough to register, to see, to _know_ - the hat. Not Longshot's from before, but - similar. Plus the swords on her back, and...

Oh, Spirits, had he been so caught up with this mess to not even realize...? The anger that threatened to overtake him receded, like the tide going out at night, replaced by a hollow, dull sensation of - guilt, shame. He remembered, a month ago, Pipsqueak telling him that Jet had died, and that ache shone through more clearly than any his body attempted to suffer.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, bowing his head a little as he spoke. "How did - I know how Jet died...but Longshot...?"

"I - don't know if he's dead." Smellerbee glanced to the side. "He got gutshot with an arrow - it was a hectic fight. I couldn't find his body after losing track of him. I don't know, and it's - it's better if we don't talk about him now." Turning back to Sneers, she reached into the hem of her left glove and withdrew from it a bobby pin - slender and crimped on one side, glistening darkly in the sunlight. "I'm going to undo your shackles, but you gotta keep pretending like you're trapped, okay? I'll go prepare once I've finished this, and then I'll wait for the right moment to strike. That's when you break free and do some damage, okay?"

"How long do you plan on waiting for this to happen?" Sneers asked. It would be better this way than to outright fight her call; she seemed intent to do whatever the hell it was she planned on doing. As the swordswoman bent forward and began working on the shackle binding his right wrist, the monk continued with, "they check on me pretty frequently throughout the day. His goons might not catch it, but he's observant when he's not going off on his madman tangents. He'll notice that the shackles aren't locked."

"The best time will be when he least expects it: when we have the most to lose." Smellerbee kept her voice low. From this angle, the straw hat obscured her face, and Sneers couldn't read any expression she might have been pulling. "Once he's got his men and the kids here - that's when I'll make my move. Some of the others are combat ready - at least, they were when I was here. Enough where, I think, we can rally them. The ones who can will protect the ones who can't, because that's how the Freedom Fighters work, isn't it? We look out for each other because nobody else will."

Sneers sighed, and under different circumstances, he would have fixed her with an amused smirk. "The more things change..."

"Exactly." She gave a soft "Aha!" as the shackle came undone, moving over to the next one. "I know you led the kids with the rest of us gone and I can respect that. You make a great parental figure, even if you're a huge jerkbelly. But you ain't a tactician, despite Jet's best efforts to make you one; so, like it or not, I'm taking charge for the next while. You got a problem with that? Fine. We'll sort it out later. Like you said, we're short on time - both on the short term _and_ in the grand scheme of things." She popped the second lock and straightened up just long enough to make eye contact with the monk, and - yes, _there_ was the fire, familiar and almost comforting to see behind those almond-shaped, brown eyes of hers. "And if you don't want to wait that long, I have _no_ problems beating the shit outta you to set you straight. We have an understanding?"

Sneers resisted the urge to bring his hands together, to massage his wrists after being clamped to the tree for so long - because he wasn't sure he'd be able to get his hands back into the damnable things afterwards. Fixing Smellerbee with one of his namesakes, the monk nodded and said, "Fine. But when we _do_ settle the leadership issue, don't expect me to lie down. I'll take the position _and_ those swords on your back as proof."

Smellerbee turned her nose up at him. "You'd have to pry them from my dead fingers. Jet didn't say, _'take my swords and bring them to Sneers,'_ an' I _never_ put that kinda symbolism on carrying them in the first place. Remember that."

The tilts and turns of emotions - finding out Smellerbee was actually alive, and then having her so crassly usurp his power and challenge him for control of his Freedom Fighters - combined with, just, _everything_, was enough to make Sneers finally feel a little bit ill. He was tired of this mess. Maybe the swordswoman had a point; maybe it was just an appropriate time to clean up house.


	8. Chapter 5, Part 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 5, Part 1: The rich and the poor, for better or worse, the last and the first walk the earth and can't avoid his turf**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-6-5-156057545

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Whoa! Stop! Calm down, Pestle!"

The voice didn't register. Pestle squirmed, kicked, tried to wriggle free of the person holding him - clenched a fist, she'd bring it up and bend the ground out from under the bandit that had captured her, she _wouldn't_ go back in that closet -

"Pestle!"

At last, something moved in front of her - still hard to see, locked up in that dark closet for Spirits knew how long - but a face faded into view, taking form through the glow of the sunlight. Long, bony face, high cheeks, all covered by a straw hat with bull horns sticking out from the top - Pestle's eyes went wide with recognition and she stopped squirming, and at last the hands holding her let go, leaving her free. She knew that face; he was another Freedom Fighter, about the same age as Pestle.

"Skins - you got away!" Pestle cried, and - it was hard to resist hugging him! She wasn't alone! And if Skins had escaped, then -

"We couldn't just sit back and let that jackass take control like that," Skins said, tilting his head to the side and grinning.

"Yeah - you should know the Hunter Brothers are tougher than that." From behind Pestle emerged Skins two younger brothers, Hunter and Bones. Hunter, younger than Skins by a couple years, wore an otter bear pelt, the head serving as a hood, and Bones - at half Pestle's age - wore armor made mostly out of his namesake, his lips curled into a sneer. "We got away not long after they took you, and we've been lurking in the forest ever since."

"We've been trying to find some way to get to the Overdweller," Skins said, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. "But he's tricky - observant. He knows we're gone, and he knows Skillet escaped with Telltale and Bedrock, and we're afraid that if we act too soon..."

...yeah. Yeah, Pestle knew that feeling. She cast a glance behind her, trying to blink away the fuzziness - saw the hole torn into the side of the school building. The indecision, the paranoia - trying to second-guess her way out of the closet. Not acting hadn't been a choice, though - she had needed to escape, because Mortar might need her help, and - and she had help, now, she had the Hunter Brothers at her side.

"Bones thinks this is stupid," Bones grumbled, pursing his lips and glowering at something off to the side. "Waiting. Planning. Feh! Should attack - fast, quick, Overdweller not see Hunters and Pestle coming."

Pestle nodded - surprised herself at how quickly the response came, because - "Believe it or not, you're right. We have to act quickly, because it won't take long for him to notice that _I'm_ free, too, and we can use that to our advantage." Pestle glanced around - the school was located at the edge of a vast clearing on the forest's floor, and not too far away was Skillet's kitchen; if the Overdweller planned on eating anything, it'd come from there, and combined with the bandits coming into the school to check on her, this was a high-traffic area. They'd be spotted if they stayed here for too long. But...her eyes drifted away from the kitchen and school. On the opposite side of the clearing - the armory, a squat, broad building loaded with the weapons the Freedom Fighters had stolen and built over the years. The bandits wouldn't be in there - if they'd seen anything they wanted, they would have taken it as soon as they had the chance. So, as exposed as she felt, being out in the open like this, the Hunters at least would need some actual weapons, and it wasn't like she couldn't benefit, either. She was only a novice Earthbender, so maybe that combined with a weapon she maybe didn't really know how to use would make her formidable. Maybe. It was better than nothing.

"We'll arm ourselves first," Pestle decided, heading towards the armory, whose oakwood doors glistened in the sunlight. The Hunter Brothers paused for a moment before falling in step behind her - maybe they were shocked at how suddenly the Earthbender had taken charge? If they were, she didn't blame them, every decision she made surprised herself, but with Mortar in trouble, the clear path - the path to saving her and the other Freedom Fighters, to redemption - laid itself out before her. Mortar had always been able to see straight from point A to point B without emotions getting in the way, and as Pestle cut across the clearing, she realized how - how empowering it was, how different and fresh it felt to be out of that self-conscious shell, to see the world so openly.

She liked it.

"What next, then?" Skins asked, leaning over Pestle's shoulder, hiking an eyebrow.

"We hit him fast, we hit him hard, easy as building a latrine."

"For an Earthbender, maybe..."

"The point is, we don't have the time to wait around." Pestle reached for the armory's door handle, wrapping her fingers around it and gripping the smooth, glossed wood. "We're on a clock; we could sit and plan and make calculated strikes, but you're right - Over-buttface is smart, he'll find us eventually. We'll have to get an edge in on him - surprise him before he realizes I've gotten out and he can't use me as blackmail anymore."

"For the record," Hunter said as the door creaked open (Pestle winced - it wasn't any louder than the screeching of the wood in the school as she'd bent it out of place, but the noise still made her feel like she'd attract unwanted attention), "you're getting kind of scary. I'm not used to you being proactive like this."

Pestle stepped across the threshold, into the lurking umbra where the weapons' cache hunkered down. "Believe me, I'm just as nervous as you are. It's new for me, too." Because, because it was, and - as much as she wanted to regress back to nervous, shy Pestle, there just wasn't any room for it, really.

She guessed it was fortunate that it was daytime (as much as night would have been easier A/ for sneaking around and B/ on her eyes), because the only light came from the sun, filtered through the rear windows of the building; a quick glance up to the lanterns that would normally have lit the place up revealed that the candles had completely burned down, the wax hardened after it had melted and burbled away, leaving milk-white tails hanging down from the bottoms - almost long enough to touch the nearest weapons, and even then Pestle saw the occasional spatter of dried wax on axe heads or swords or clubs. She'd been right - the bandits had come and gone almost right away, leaving the candles lit. Well, that was fine.

"Find something you like, but be quick," she said to the Hunter Brothers, not looking at them, already scouring the room; shelves of weapons lined each wall, and two more island shelves were situated in the middle of the floor. Most were occupied by larger weapons, but smaller ones - daggers, shortbows, shrunken - all hung from the back wall. They wouldn't do Pestle much good, they required too much finesse, and that wasn't her thing. She needed something - something heavier, something more blunt, something like...ah! Twin battle hammers - the ends linked together by a long chain, propped up inside one of the island shelves with the heads facing down. She walked over to it, grabbed one of the handles - the metal was cold beneath her grip, rough, it commanded a brand of power Pestle hadn't ever really experienced before - the past ten minutes were full of new things, new experiences, and yeah, she wasn't used to it but she was twelve years old and Mortar needed her help, her support, and she had to grow up _sometime_, right?

Right.

She tested the weight of the hammer - heavy, yes, but even though Pestle was a novice Earthbender she was still an Earthbender, she had _some_ muscle to her name, so the hammer wasn't unmanageable. The chain might be a problem, though - long enough to allow her to use both freely, but short enough to trip her up if she didn't watch her step, and she didn't have the experience to _be_ that careful. So, maybe another one - ? A quick visual sweep, looking around, past the Hunter Brothers as they armed themselves, picking up knives and spears and machetes, and she didn't see any other hammers that looked as solid as these - wooden ones with flawed shafts or heads, they would break apart if she used them to excess, and that was a bad thing. No - the twin hammers were meant to be used in a fight, hardly ornate by any standards, but you didn't need an ornate weapon to bash somebody's head in (the thought of _actually_ bashing somebody's head in made her queasy, though). The heads were rectangled off, the shafts plain aside from the grips, pale gray, made of steel most likely. It would work.

She hefted the weapons out, laid them the ground, and bent a small pedestal up from the ground, setting the chain onto it; a quick whip of the arms (muscles straining, shoulders still sore) brought another rock up from the ground, edges sharpened, swinging up, around and down in one quick motion. With a spark, the chain broke clean in two, leaving maybe a foot hanging from the end of each hammer, the rest lying useless on the floor

Good. Okay, good. Pestle crouched down and picked the hammers up again; they were maybe two and a half feet long from one end to the other, and that would be all she needed. She'd heard stories of benders who incorporated weapons into their bending; she'd have to try it, hopefully sooner rather than later.

"Okay," she announced, glancing up at the Hunters. "You guys ready?"

"Bones say, time to kick ass." The youngest Hunter Brother scrutinized a knife before sheathing it at his waist, where three others dangled, waiting to be used. Skins and Hunter stood at the ready; both of them had donned leather chest plates, and - that wasn't a bad idea, taking some armor. Another quick look around yielded a third chest plate - she jumped, pulled it down from the wall and tugged it on over her shirts, securing the straps. _Now_ she was ready.

"Let's go, boys," Pestle said, picking up the hammers and frowning. "We've got a name to live up to."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee watched, eyes narrowed, as the children shuffled into the dining hall – not so much in an orderly line, but a random, hodgepodge march. They didn't want to be here, and she didn't blame them. Most kept their eyes, their heads down, watching their own feet. They looked malnourished, not starved but close to it, they were covered in more filth than normal, and the shadows under their eyes – were they even allowed to sleep? Probably not – all the basic human needs had been denied of them, and Smellerbee didn't have trouble believing it, because, well – the Overdweller didn't care _for _them, only that he _had_ them.

There were a few of the children who didn't look so defeated, though – they held their chins up, and even from this distance Smellerbee could see the defiance radiating from their eyes. Those children would be the ones to take up arms against the men holding them captive.

Amongst the children, about a dozen grown men and women mingled, standing guard over them, taskmasters – bullies, adults, armed with swords and pole-arms and maces, exercising power over the weak and small to boost their egos, identical to the ones from the mines a couple lifetimes removed. Most of them were bandits, but a few wore the ragged remains of Fire Nation army clothes – chest plates, helmets, greaves or gauntlets. None of these had their hair pulled back into a topknot, so either they salvaged the armor off soldiers for their own use, or they – like Spatula, all those years ago – had defected from their country for their own purposes.

(It was about there that she realized who the three bandits were that had been chasing after Skillet – she let out a soft, surprised "Oh," before shaking her head and shrugging. Go figure, right?)

When the children had all filed into the dining hall, milling around the long, wooden table stretching from one end to the other, the adults in the group fanned out, flanking them from all sides – if this was the extent of the Overdweller's followers (she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't), crashing this meeting would be too easy. It would have to be fast, brutal – a slaughter. Her primary target was the Overdweller, because without him, the others wouldn't stand a chance; psychotic or not, he had a commanding presence, and that would make all the difference in the coming fight.

Fortunately, she had prepared.

Clenched between her teeth she held a dagger – not the one Longshot had bought in Ba Sing Se, but an older one, one from her – her tent (a hut, now - all of the tents had been replaced by small lean-tos, made with the same patchwork maxim of, 'nail the planks together in whatever way necessary to make sure the thing holds together' that had applied to everything else in the forest that Mortar and Pestle couldn't build by themselves), the one she had called home before leaving. (Why they hadn't been moved to the armory, though...) This dagger had been used primarily for hunting, and the metal jilted with a bitter tang against her tongue. The blade had been blackened, to prevent sunlight from reflecting on it – she couldn't risk blowing her cover. Two more swords criss-crossed her back, again old, familiar blades from that dusty sword rack – whoever had moved into the hut following her departure and the forest's renovation must have felt attached enough to keep the weapons around. The serrated dagger and Jet's swords had been left behind, because – because if this guy could beat Sneers unarmed, he might be good enough to beat Smellerbee in swordplay.

(She hated admitting it, but she didn't feel proficient enough with Jet's swords to take them into such a high-risk battle. Holding regular short swords instead had felt like – well, like a homecoming, just as it had when she'd entered the forest, returning to the familiar way of life during underwhelming circumstances.)

Minutes passed, and the Overdweller did not make himself apparent – maybe, maybe this _wasn't_ a lecture, or whatever, like Smellerbee had assumed. Though what else could it be? Either way, the Overdweller's – lieutenants, she figured the appropriate word was – were here and could be killed. That was a step in the right direction.

The swordswoman tried to take a quick head-count, but...when she'd left, there had been less than twenty Freedom Fighters in the group. Just by estimating, at least twice as many had come to a stop in the dining platform; Sneers had been busy, and Smellerbee had a hard time picking out familiar faces amongst the newcomers. The monk hadn't even mentioned the increased populace - there wasn't any way of telling who was missing, because for all she knew, anyone unaccounted for could have been part of Sneers' generation. Dammit. She focused - at least try to find the ones you know, Bee, start there and work your way down. Mama Marlin, Viper, Piper, Spike, Toad, Telltale...and, ah - there! She spotted Mortar amongst the group after a little more combing – curly, shoulder-length hair matted to her scalp, one eye bathed in deep, purple shadow and her left arm in a sling. The girl glowered, and Smellerbee could see her jaw working even from this distance, her eyes flicking left, right – looking for…for something, but what?

Pestle.

The swordswoman realized that Mortar's sister didn't cling to her, or even stand near her – in fact, Smellerbee couldn't see the shyer twin anywhere, even though she should have been as easy to spot as Mortar. No other Freedom Fighter had blonde hair.

Smellerbee tasted nausea in the back of her throat and scowled. Don't – don't think of what might be. This would work to their favor, because without Pestle, Mortar would fight harder – either out of revenge if the former had been killed, or to sooner locate her if not. Broken limbs be damned, the young Earthbender would let out the stress and tension that the swordswoman could see building inside her and inflict it onto those who held her down. There wasn't a shortage of stone material around the dining hall; some of the cups and plates lying used and abandoned on the tables were made of clay.

Finally – clomping footsteps, heavy, leather boots treading across the wood platforms. The swagger and gait could only have been Overdweller's, a man bold and cocky enough to think himself better because he could break a ten-year-old's arm.

Smellerbee pulled the dagger from between her teeth and wedged it in a crook made by two small branches. Pressing one fist to her mouth and the palm of her other hand against the first, she began to whistle – a chirping, camouflaged message, and she saw several of the orphans tense up from around her gloves. Not all of them – some didn't understand bird calling, not yet, but that was okay. Mortar did, and Spike, and Toad and others who could fight. Enough. It was enough. The rest would just have to be on their toes.

She reached for her dagger again as the Overdweller stepped into sight. He stood at the head of the dining hall (too far away for Smellerbee to make a leaping attack at – but that might be for the better, because death-from-above moves were better for flair than tactics since left the attacker), spreading his arms wide, his greasy, thinning hair draped over the back of his neck and shoulders.

"You children are part of my ultimate vision," the Overdweller began, his voice low and nasal, quivering with – anticipation? Maybe, but denying the pinch of madness in his voice would be like looking right at Pipsqueak and telling him he was invisible. "A vision of unification. Of _completion_. Yes, yes – all of you, important, to me, your care giver, your savior – the only person capable of bringing you together, as one, yes yes yes!"

Insane! The man – the man was absolutely nuts. He acted like he had no motivation short of "because I want to," and that – that flippant, arrogant rationale made Smellerbee burn inside, it made that familiar white-hot fury stoke behind her eyes and under her ribs. Such _audacity_…!

"Those that stand in my way, they're punished, they're forced to live as slaves!" The Overdweller threw one hand back to Sneers, and Smellerbee could see the monk narrow his eyes and square his jaw. Almost a lifetime of reading Longshot made Sneers as open as a scroll: he wanted to throw those words back at the maniac holding his friends and charges hostage, because _they_ were the ones truly being subjugated. The Overdweller's voice grew more shrill as he spoke, rising to such an octave that Smellerbee felt her gut sharpen. "I _will not tolerate insolence_! Unity, it is mine, I will see it, I _have_ seen it and I will make sure it comes to pass!"

He drew a deep breath. The children kept their eyes on him, some narrowed, some wide with fear or confusion. It was just a matter of finding the right opening now.

She'd feel a lot more confident with Longshot covering her butt.

The Overdweller closed his eye for a moment, and Smellerbee thought at first the man had drifted into an austere serenity - the kind only a madman could reach - but just as quickly, it opened again, furious and quavering and his cheeks flushed brilliant red with unrestrained fury.

"Six of your kind have _escaped_ my perfect unity, a cooking wench and five children." Folding his arms over his chest, the Overdweller took three massive strides towards the assembled youths. "I shan't suffer this indignity, no I shan't! You, yes yes yes, _you_ children know where they are, where they've gone, and you will help me, you will or I will punish you! It is a parent's job to discipline his children when they are naughty, and not telling me where your friends have gone would make you all very, _very_ naughty indeed, yes you would be. So...tell your kind father, the Overdweller, where they have gone so I may bring them back and finally be complete."

Ah! The opening she needed - placing her hands against her mouth again, she whistled another message. Sneers picked up on it, nodded, and said, "Stop - don't hurt them. I - I know where they went."

"Ah, he speaks, he does, he does!" The Overdweller's mouth curled into a vicious grin. He swooped over to the "shackled" Freedom Fighter, hunching down low enough to meet his gaze at eye-level. "You, I _told_ you that you would break, and you are, I didn't even have to threaten the children's supper."

"You've barely been feeding them anyway," Sneers growled, the edge to his voice glistening and oiled, like a knife - and Smellerbee could appreciate that. The monk could act if nothing else. "You've been hogging all of our food stores for yourself and your grunts. But that's alright; Freedom Fighters are used to hunger, to us it's an old friend. We've endured seasons on rumbling bellies and rock-hard bread. Something you wouldn't know a whole lot about."

"Impoverished woes aren't my concern," the Overdweller admitted, his grin widening, brow digging lower into his head. "Now _tell me_ where they are, tell me so I may retrieve them!"

"You have to promise you won't harm them. One of them is very sick. You kill her, and your 'perfect unity' isn't possible."

"Hmph." The older man hiked one eyebrow. "Even with your limbs stuck to this tree, you struggle for what power you can get. Fine. I shall not harm them and I shall be gentle with the ill one. Now _**WHERE ARE THEY?**_"

Sneers flashed a wicked, victorious smirk, and retorted, "Safe from you."

The Overdweller didn't have enough time to react; Sneers lashed out with his unshackled fists, both contacting under the man's jaw, sending him soaring, soaring - and then his arc peaked, his long coat flowing with him along the air's current, landing in a heap in front of the gathered Freedom Fighters.

Smellerbee slashed her dagger through the air to her left, biting clean through a rope pulled taut next to her head; it snapped apart, and spilling onto the dining hall's table cascaded a wide array of weapons - spears, swords, maces, flails, staffs, everything a combat-ready Freedom Fighter could ask for in a fighting situation, dropped from a net suspended out of sight in the leaves overhead, the best she could find without straying too far from the dining platform.

Leaping from the trees, Smellerbee's heart raced, fire flooded her veins, the wind did nothing to cool her down but that was okay, it was time, it was now, she would fight to save her Freedom Fighters and she would make this bastard pay for the pain he'd inflicted on them. She landed in a crouch, rolled, sprang back up to her feet with the impact still leaving dull throbbing pains in her ankles. Unsheathing one sword and aiming it up at the trees above, she made the rallying cry, because it was _her_ leadership, _she_ was in charge, and this was the chance for the Freedom Fighters to show exactly what it entailed to carry that title.

Suffering? Pain? Famine? Part of the life, part of the deal, part of the trade, and they were damn _proud_ of it.

"_Freedom Fighters!_" Smellerbee shouted - her voice hoarse, but powerful, she could feel it surging through, electricity charging her muscles, giving her drive and power and command. "Take up your arms! Protect those weaker then yourselves! Drive back those who dare oppress us and give them hell for standing in our way!"

A cheer roared up from the Freedom Fighters, a goliath beast carved from living a war-stricken life. Those nearest to the table lunged for the weapons - if they could use it, they charged for the nearest of the Overdweller's lieutenants. If they _couldn't_ use the weapons, they passed it off to the next person who could - a miniature factory, the weak aiding the strong, the strong protecting the weak, and all it had taken was the proper motivation, the right moment, and -

- and a flash of faded brown from the corner of her eyes, and she brought her sword down into a wide diagonal arc -

The Overdweller unsheathed his sword - a massive blade, a gold core shimmering against the platinum-steel edge, the tip wider than the shaft. A broadsword - a well-maintained one, something of an oddity given the slipshod condition of, well, everything _else_ about the man. He brought it up, blocking Smellerbee's slash, using the force of impact to parry, and she could see him bringing up his empty right hand, palm flat -

- she crossed her dagger with the spring-mounted short sword in his sleeve, blocking him, pinning him, bringing her sword around proper, but he pushed off the ground, rolled over her back, tried to stick her with the broadsword -

- yelling and screaming all around and the sound of metal clashing against metal, wood on armor, stone on flesh, Mortar screaming for Pestle, Sneers spewing venomous, obscene curses, Spike calling out orders -

- sparks flying, Smellerbee dropped to the ground and brought her boot up between the man's legs. The Overdweller squealed (_just like she had promised Skillet_) although she may have said it out loud because all there was now was moving and moving and _moving_ and thinking didn't happen, just react, just go, just _do_!

The Overdweller rolled to the side and lashed out with a crescent kick - Smellerbee brought up her wrist, blocked it at the ankle, and saw a glistening sliver of metal protruding from the toe of his boot - another hidden blade. Guy fought with gimmicks in tandem with actual skill, he was good, no doubt about that, but it just meant that she had to be more careful because - he lunged, the broadsword coming up for her abdomen -

Smellerbee twisted, avoiding the blow and burying her dagger into the tendon between his thumb and forefinger, biting through the fleshy web and drawing a tiny spritz of blood. The Overdweller snarled, and she twisted the blade, digging into his fingers - more scarlet flowed, staining her already-dark knife with inky crimson, and he dropped the sword, letting it clatter to the ground. Smellerbee leapt to her feet and kicked the sword away, sending it skittering across the wooden floor.

"You're the ostrich horse boy, aren't you? Yes, yes yes yes, you are!" The Overdweller cackled, his free hand decorated with wriggling trails of blood; clenching it into a fist, he struck, and - and the world went white for a second, she cursed herself, should have _expected_ him to do something like that, he'd beaten Sneers unarmed, so _dumb_ - she landed, rolled, her dagger gone from her hand, but she still had her sword in the other - pushed herself up, but the Overdweller came at her again, kicking her in the jaw - no dagger hidden in the boot this time, or else - that'd have been it, right, but she still hurt, so she couldn't be dead -

Dizzy, she pressed her free hand into the floor and propped a knee beneath herself - but the Overdweller, the bastard could _move_, his gait long and full of a sudden, mad grace that shouldn't have been possible for a middle-aged guy - Smellerbee couldn't get her sword up fast enough, so she dropped back down, pushing to the side, swinging in a low arc as she rolled, trying to - to at least _clip_ his calf or something, but he jumped, he _leapt_ over the attack and landed in a crouch, grabbing up his broadsword and lunging. "I'll make you regret trying to ruin my unity! My vision, my _destiny_, yes yes yes you will pay for your crime! My law, my _perfection_, has no tolerance for your kind! Your blood will flow and these children will be disciplined!"

"Shut _up_!" Smellerbee grunted, deflecting the blow, the impact jarring her wrist, and she pushed him away, lumbering back to her feet. Her stomach, chin throbbed, and she could taste coppery blood welling up around her tongue. "You're obnoxious, and just for your information, I'm a girl!" She dove for him, sword whirling around in front of her, moving like a great black whip, almost, that's what it looked like, and he rose his sword to parry -

- but he was gone, so suddenly, landing in a heap at the head of the dining hall's table, and there was Sneers and and and Smellerbee couldn't _stop_ in time -

The monk yelled and leapt away, clutching his arm, a gash torn through his sleeve. Blood seeped out between his fingers, but - slowly, not much, and his face twisted into a snarling mask of anger. "What the hell are you_ doing_?" He bellowed, and she could feel his hot breath on her face.

And she was yelling back, before she knew it, because because because how _dare_ he blame her? "Screw you, Sneers! I _had_ him! _You're_ the one that jumped in and put yourself in the way!"

"You _say_ that, but how do I know you weren't just trying to make jerky outta me?"

She should have punched him. Or sliced his again (the wound couldn't have been more than skin-deep, because she saw his fingers working on that arm, as if he were keeping from making a fist and it took all his effort). "Because," she responded, terse and quivering and struggling so _much_ to keep her fire in check, "like you or not, I still respect you and I need your help. We're Freedom Fighters. Don't forget that."

"_I'm_ a Freedom Fighter. So are the others." Sneers turned away from her, releasing his arm, and, yes, the wound _was_ shallow, it would sting but it would also heal and that was good. "You turned your back on that."

"I brought it with me," she hissed, stepping up beside him and glaring at the Overdweller. The man, dazed, had been working to find his footing - and he managed to get upright, his broadsword lost to the fight somewhere, but - but a glaive lay unused at the table, and he reached for it, pulling it up and pointing it at the bickering Freedom Fighters. "Jet and Longshot and I. You're a jerk for questioning that, and I'll prove you wrong. Just be _careful_ next time you see me taking a swing at that asshole."

"Same goes from me to you," Sneers growled, stooping down low and snorting. He rushed at the Overdweller, their respite cut short, and the Overdweller cackled, a high, reedy, nasal sound that grated Smellerbee's innards like rough sandpaper. He thrust the glaive, which Sneers juked away from, then brought up the spring-loaded sword to bear, but the monk had prepared for that as well, made to body check the lunatic - but, the knee, he didn't see the knee coming, and Sneers stumbled away clutching his abdomen. Smellerbee howled, charging around the Overdweller in a wide arc, springing off the trunk of a tree to get some air - and, and, the Overdweller twisted, grabbed her by the tunic, and threw her into the ground next to Sneers, her head bouncing off the wood - world turned red for a moment, sound got funny -

"You will not _beat me_!" The Overdweller howled, standing over the fallen Freedom Fighters and raising the glaive up high. "I have known of this place, these, these _children_, for over a decade! The Spirits came to me, they did, _yes_, oh yes, they came to me and gave me a vision! A vision of unity, they came, they planted it in my head, I was _destined_ to bring them together, to be one, to rest under _my _command, _my_ law, _my_ purview! I will provide the children the parental influence _you_ could never have!"

"Hfff..." Smellerbee wheezed and struggled to get to her feet again - but she couldn't get her limbs to work, her head still thrummed from striking the wood - the Overdweller crossed over to her too fast, too _fast_, and knee found jaw, her teeth clicking together, and she was - rolling, crashed against the chair with dragon-wound legs, bowling it over.

"I will realize my destiny!" The Overdweller continued, and she heard Sneers cry out - but her vision, it didn't, didn't _align_ properly, she blinked and shook her head but she couldn't see right - then, the sound of metal digging into flesh, a unique, wet, low sound that she had grown so familiar with over the years - "I will self-actualize! I will unite and become full, ascending, beyond the planes, beyond the trees, beyond the planet itself! I shall become, yes, I shall _exist_! I will join the stars in their greatness, having made the perfect completion!"

Smellerbee grabbed onto the chair, her fingers trembling as they closed around the armrest. She buried the tip of her sword into the floor, used it as leverage - stood up, finally, but she swayed, her legs not, not functioning quite right, she needed just a little more time to readjust -

"You're - hck - a dumbass," She hissed, spitting a shimmering, maroon loogey down to her feet. She saw Sneers, lying on the ground, conscious but still, the spring-loaded knife stuck in his arm - freed from the Overdweller's sleeve. "You're a slave to your destiny - you're letting it blind you, instead of letting it set you free. Even _if_ you were to achieve it, then what would happen? You'd have forty-plus children to starve and torture. That does you about as much good as a sky bison that can't fly. The Spirits may have given you a vision of unity, but you've turned so ignorant to it that you've failed to realize that _it's already happened._"

The Overdweller stopped. His eye went wide and his mouth, a big, expressive thing, turned downward into a furious scowl. "What? How _dare_ - "

Smellerbee pointed behind him, and the Overdweller turned, turned to face - the orphans, the Freedom Fighters, facing him, defiance on their youthful faces, blood smattering some, but all were alive and well and not a single one of the bandits remained standing. Mortar headed up the group, her expression dark, vengeful, and she held up her good hand, a plate whirling through the air above her hand, her fingers constantly flexing and moving and turning.

"We've _always_ had to struggle to get by," Smellerbee continued, feeling her senses coming back to her, and she uprooted her sword with a little effort. "We are Freedom Fighters, and that is the way of our life. Nobody else will watch out for us, so we have to watch out for each other. And by you coming here, attempting to realize the hollow figure of your destiny through madness, you've pulled us back together after a season and a half of bein' apart." As she spoke, Sneers' gaze moved to her; he began clambering to his feet, slowly, a frown of disbelief on his jaw like week-old lettuce. "Even in the face of insurmountable odds, we won't back down!" Raising her free hand up to the boughs of crimson leaves overhead, fingers splayed, reaching high, she felt lightning course through her - the power, _this_ power, she'd only felt inklings of it when leading Longshot into battle between Ba Sing Se and here, but that had been _nothing_ by comparison. Charisma overflowed from her, her chest swollen and itching and and and it just felt _right,_ it felt _natural_, she was not Jet's lieutenant anymore, she was Crimson-Faced Smellerbee, leader of the Freedom Fighters! Pulse throbbing in harmony to the energy around her, she felt her face tighten into a ferocious grin. "_Freedom Fighters, attack_!"


	9. Chapter 5, Part 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**Chapter 5, Part 2: You know what, now I know who homie is, man: his name is D-D-Death**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-6-5-156057545

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Noise - from somewhere above, but distant still. In the direction of the dining hall. Shouting, weapons clashing, things breaking -

"They've started the party without us," Hunter said, a grin slicing his face. He glanced over to Pestle. "Is that where we're heading?"

"Yeah." Pestle set her jaw. Mortar wasn't too far away now - and the other Freedom Fighters, Hunter was right, it sounded like a battle had already broken out. The Overdweller wasn't anticipating her or the Hunter Brothers to join the fray, because so far as that jerkbelly was concerned, the four children were still missing or captive. So -

Bones, who had been traveling ahead of the others, came to a quick stop, hunkering down and reaching for one of his knives. "Not alone," he said, casting his gaze left, right. Even though the battle still raged on in the distance, an eerie quiet settled over the four Freedom Fighters. Pestle tightened her grip on her hammers, waiting, waiting -

Bandits! They'd finally crossed paths with some - they spilled from the woods, six of them dressed in shabby clothes, dusty and torn and burnt. They were quick to draw weapons, most of which Pestle recognized from the weapons' cache, and yeah they were outnumbered, but the Earthbender had taken charge, led the Hunter Brothers this far, so before the first bandit could attack -

She brought one of the hammers down, hard into the ground, and three chunks of earth flipped up into the air; she thrust the other hammer at one of the blocks, sending it careening into one of the bandits, a spray of dirt and pebbles splashing outward. She kicked another block, and it surged towards another bandit - missed! - crashed into a tree and crumbled. She swung one of the hammers around again, but the weight threw her off her balance, missed the last chunk of earth entirely; it collapsed back into the ground.

The Hunter Brothers were fast to act, too - they charged forward, yelling, Skins plunging the tip of his spear into one of the bandit's arms, tugging it away with a splash of blood, strands of muscle coming away, stuck to the tip, Hunter bringing his machete down on one of the bandits' heads - dodging, hit the shoulder instead, Pestle heard the man's collar bone snap, Bones swinging wildly with two of his knives, slashing one of the bandits across the chest, the stomach, colliding with him and forcing him down to the ground, screaming -

Pestle hoisted the hammers up again and ran for one of the bandits, pinwheeling them around her body, pulse hammering in her throat, behind her ears, throat raw, was she screaming? Maybe - hard to tell, her muscles burned, throbbed, each step jarring up her ankles, knees, the hammers heavy in her hands but she had the strength to lift them, to use them, empowered by the moment, she'd rarely been in actual serious fights before but she knew the feeling, Jet had put her on the front lines a few times, and, and right in front of her, one of the bandits - Pestle swung both hammers around in a tight arc, the first one hitting the bandit's left arm (had been holding a, a sword - a tulwar?), the other connecting with his side, gross, sickening, wet noises, the arm snapping and going at a funny angle, ribs crunching, organs squooshing, the clothing around both parts had already started to turn red, seeping blood, and he fell over, he was useless now (she figured) -

"_Look out!_" Skins yelled, vaulting over Pestle (felt his hand on her shoulder, just a moment, pushing down and springing away), swinging his spear around; he slashed across a bandit's chest, the one she had knocked over with the earth block, he yowled and fell back, clothes torn, a bright red gash set against his filthy skin, and Pestle reacted, bringing one of the hammers hard into the bandit's knee, the same nauseating wet _snapcrunchpop!_ splicing the air, he collapsed to the ground, knee bent in a way it shouldn't, and - Pestle slammed the ground with a hammer again, a piece of rock shooting up beneath the man's back, flinging him out, away, vanishing into the woods, brush and leaves snapping as they swallowed him up.

Skins jumped away, and, and Pestle moved - Bones beside her now, his knives flashing as he tore another bandit to shreds - but the man, he was able to react, he brought his club down, down, would hit Bones if Pestle didn't do something - she brought one of the hammers up, deflected the blow, sent the club flying, Bones looked up at her in shock for just a moment before turning back to the bandit and delivering a sharp, upward cut, piercing the man's - throat - blood, all over - Pestle lurched back, the stuff splattered her face, her armor, she'd throw up if - no, no time to be sick, to many people were counting on her -

Hunter, Hunter yelped, Pestle turned to face him, saw him clutching a wound on his thigh - swung his machete in a narrow arc, but the bandit that had hit him back-stepped, looked like this one had some actual skill - Pestle and Bones charged at the same time, Bones yelled something about - about how messing with one Hunter Brother meant messing with all of them, and he dropped down to the ground, slid between the bandit's legs, one of the knives digging into the man's hamstrings, the other aimed for an ankle, missed - Pestle stopped short of the man, stomped a foot at the ground instinctively - shot up a pillar of rock beneath his wounded leg, sending him sprawling backwards, and - and -

Down. Everyone, all of the bandits, and no more emerged from the woods.

"Hunter, are you okay?" She asked, glancing over to the middle Hunter Brother; Skins and Bones had come up to him, the former with his hands on Hunter's shoulders.

"I'm good. Not very deep - just caught me by surprise, is all." Hunter pushed upright, wincing - hawked, spat a loogey onto the bandit that had cut him. Voice terse, he added, "We'd better hurry if we want to keep the others from getting hurt any worse."

Pestle nodded - putting the bandits, the gross things she and the Hunters had had to do to them, behind her, wiping the blood from her cheek with a sleeve. There were more important things to worry about. Without another word, she lead the others away, charging, the dirt rough against the bare soles of her feet, plants tickling her, but that was okay, it was a sensation, she was okay, alive, and now she would be the one to support Mortar.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Sneers didn't know what to make of it.

He felt - energized, supercharged - by Smellerbee's speech. She looked so, so _natural_ performing it, and the words, beautiful and vivid, overtook him with their strength, their heartfelt purity, their soulful rage, and the undeniable truths - Freedom Fighters looked out for each other because nobody else would. Jet had taken Sneers under his wing with that mentality, as he had with Longshot, Smellerbee, Pipsqueak, The Duke, Skillet..._everyone_. That never changed. It had always been there, real, tangible, and Sneers knew it - but somewhere in the course of her revival, Smellerbee had put more weight behind that knowledge than the monk had during her absence. She had charisma to spare; she inspired; she was fantastic.

He hated her for it.

Sneers had _never_ elicited that sort of jolt from those he led, he never brought them from the brink of disaster so uproariously. The other Freedom Fighters had unanimously agreed to aide his war efforts, and that was the closest he'd ever come to that - and it had been a slow, gradual process, without flair, without show. Sneers didn't have that flowing, glorious charisma - just the trust of those he'd charged himself to care for.

Then again, maybe that was enough. With the rest of the Core gone, Sneers had gotten to know the others better.

Either way...he sighed, hated even admitting it just to himself...Smellerbee at least had what it took to lead, and it couldn't have been more obvious. The others had rallied, even those who didn't know her directly falling in behind her cause, and so had he himself. He pulled the spring-loaded blade free from his arm and flicked his lifeblood from its edge, holding it by the guardless grip. (It was a shallow wound, but deeper than the accidental slice Smellerbee had taken out of him - he'd need to see to that sooner rather than later, and he was close to running on fumes now - the little dull aches from being shackled up so long had started to shine through alongside the larger ones from the fight, no matter how hard he tried suppressing them.)

"_Freedom Fighters, attack_!"

The Overdweller - Sneers saw the panic in his eye now, felt his mouth curling into a furious smirk, his brow furrowing - turned to run, but Mortar hurled a mug at the back of his head with Earthbending. It shattered against his oily hair, the shards raining down to the wood, and he stumbled - but it wasn't enough to stop him. Sneers felt his legs moving (so heavy, so tired), dragging against the wood, as fast as he could, but the Overdweller just moved too fast, too _fast_ -

- and Telltale, screaming, appearing from high above with his broken-in-half pike in both hands, the sharpened tip aimed down - the Overdweller heard, juked to the side, the pike catching the tail of his longcoat, pinning it to the wood - the Overdweller kicked Telltale, the boy too inexperienced to back away - a glimmer of silver against the brown before his toe hit the boy's stomach - crimson flowing, flowing -

(_NO_)

- the kick had enough force to send Telltale rolling, crashing back-first into a tree, stopping in a heap on his side -

- someone, screaming, Sneers' throat rattled and hurt and all other noise in the world had gone, gone, he realized _he_ heaved that guttural roar -

- the Overdweller shucked off his coat, leaving him in a filthy, once-white tunic and dusty, stained pants, the man running again -

- Spike hurled his javelin, the Overdweller ducked, the weapon embedded into a tree's trunk at the opposite end of the dining hall -

- another mug zinged past Sneers' head, so close that he could feel the wind on his face, hit the Overdweller in the shoulder -

- Smellerbee yelling, couldn't hear her well, something about first aid, and then -

The Overdweller had reached the edge of the dining hall. No ziplines extended out that way - only tree branches, and a long fall if one wasn't careful enough. He didn't hesitate, instead choosing to make a leap to the nearest branch - soaring through the air, so weird that a middle-aged man could make a jump like that - but, no time to waste, soon the floor had vanished beneath Sneers, too, and he roared through the air after this, this, Telltale was just a _kid_, and Sneers felt his chi pulsating around him, focus it, _focus it_, just like the monks taught, turn your emotion and your chi inward, then redirect them _outward_ -

One branch to the next, brown and red and orange whirling past he chased the Overdweller, unsure if any of the others had followed. His prey didn't know where he was going, he was just - running, fleeing like a _coward_, spry and agile but lost because this was not his home turf, springing from this tree to that, zigging, zagging, juking and dogging, but Sneers stayed on him, because he would _kill_ the bastard, he would stomp the brains right out of his _skull_ -

A blue and brown blur, like a flash of dark lightning, struck the murderer from the side, having leapt upward, and Sneers saw him plunge, his assailant stopping long enough only to pursue down after him.

Smellerbee.

The girl had usurped his leadership. She had the gall to return to _his_ forest - and now she would try to steal away his _vengeance_, she _would_, that traitorous bitch, she would steal the murderer and Telltale's scrawny form crumbling, his bright-eyed gaze going soft, the gap-toothed, childlike grin on his face fading to nothing, he could _see_ them in his mind -

_There!_ Below, on a path winding and cutting between the tree trunks, Smellerbee standing, that murderer - not, what was going on - he leapt, springing away from the tree branch beneath him, the bark scraping his soles - the wind bombarding him from all sides and

_the only way to survive a fall like that was to either land and roll or strike back at the Earth harder than it could strike __you_

Sneers extended one fist forward and slammed it into the ground, landing in a crouch that jarred his body, made his bones tingle and left his muscles feeling loose and wiggly for a moment. Right between Smellerbee and the murderer, not the Overdweller anymore, who had backed himself against the trunk of a tree, blood streaming down his face from a cut under his hair, a scarlet streak running down his temple, cheek, vanishing beyond his jaw. His mouth curled into a quivering scowl, fear and defiance radiant from his single eye, and Sneers felt himself unfurling, taking slow, steady paces towards the feeble excuse of a human being, his fists clenching, raised above his head, he would _kill_ the man with enough gall to ruin his Freedom Fighters and then Smellerbee would be next -

"Sneers!"

The monk stopped in his tracks, but did not turn to face his former comrade. "Don't say anything. He killed Telltale."

"Believe me, I wouldn't mind taking an arm and a leg off before burying this mother myself," Smellerbee said, "but right now we need him _alive_. We don't know where Pestle is and some of the others I don't know about might be missing."

"..." Sneers felt his shoulders bunching as a hushed silence blanketed the forest; he could hear the leaves rustling overhead as a breeze whispered past, and occasional padding, scraping, creaking noises of Freedom Fighters springing from tree branch to tree branch overhead – surrounding the trio, watching from afar to see what would happen next, brewing a murky bog of tension. Birds chittered in the distance – real ones, not the calls used by the Freedom Fighters, and hog monkeys screeched and howled from the boughs. The murderer pressed his back against the tree trunk, his face white.

Sneers felt his fingers curl into fists, his muscles tensing, knuckles going white. He hated Smellerbee, hated, hated, _hated_ her so much right now – for being the tactician, for trying to cut her losses, couldn't she see this beast, this, this nothing better than an _animal_, needed to be put down before any more life could be lost?

Smellerbee glided past the monk, flashing him a sideways glance from beneath the brim of Longshot's hat before turning her attention in full to the murderer. Realizing the depth of his trouble, the man gasped and began to scrabble away, but the swordswoman was quick to stop him – a quick boot to the chest drove him back against the tree trunk, making him hiss, and Smellerbee darted in close, pressing the edge of her sword against the man's throat. His eye went even wider as he instinctively craned his neck further back (idiot, not realizing it only left him easier to kill), peering past his round, filthy cheekbone with a quivering pupil. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Yes, it was the look of a man soon to die, and Sneers would see to it _himself_.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee was only distantly aware of the other Freedom Fighters gradually descending – some dropping down from the trees like she had (air rushing past her, thrilling, energizing, _refreshing_), others using the ziplines, and she felt her cheeks ache as her lips curled into a sinister scowl. Pressing against the Overdweller, she could feel his chest heaving, his breath hot in her face, and the cold satisfaction that she'd set things straight in just a few minutes helped her keep a level head.

Couldn't think about Telltale now – he would be seen to, one way or the other.

Smellerbee brought her face in as close to the lunatic's as she could without letting their noses touch. She reached up with her free hand and dug her fingers into his oily, black hair, tightening her grasp and pulling back, making him wince. "Here's the deal. You're a dead man one way or the other; I'm gonna ask you questions, you're gonna gimme answers, and depending on how I like what I hear, your death will either be fast an' easy, or a big ole' scene. And it's gonna hurt a _lot_ more."

"I'll tell you _nothing_, girl!" He seethed, opening his eye and glaring. "You have broken my dream, my destiny, yes you have, you're a very _bad_ girl, but you see, you have not broken my _spirit_!"

",,,Hmph." Smellerbee narrowed her eyes. "Right. Fine. Spirit's the goal, right? Let's start by breaking _other_ things. Sneers – let's motivate our friend a little bit."

Wordlessly, the monk shuffled up beside the swordswoman, and Smellerbee could feel his gaze first on her, then on the Overdweller. The monk was _pissed_, and he probably would want to take something out of her hide once their common enemy had been buried – but that was a calculated risk, right? She'd gone into this anticipating Sneers wouldn't be so chummy, and he'd already made it clear he wanted Jet's swords (never gonna happen, he didn't understand why she carried them). As more of the children joined the scene, the tension in the air grew thicker between the trio taking center stage, and at last Sneers grabbed The Overdweller's damaged hand in both of his.

"You want to know the funny thing about combat?" Sneers said, his voice low and rugged and, Smellerbee admitted to herself with coy appreciation, actually _intimidating_. "So much of it requires your _fingers_. Armed combat, yeah, that's kind of the obvious one. Most unarmed martial arts. Bending. Hell, even fighting styles that focus on the legs or feet require your fingers to some degree – a nice, strong kick can be amplified by planting your hand on the ground for balance."

Smellerbee winced as a snap – light, like somebody stepping on a twig – pierced the air, and the Overdweller gasped in response (but didn't yell, or even cry out, nothing satisfying, but that would have to wait, wouldn't it?). The old man's face drained of color, and his lips quivered from the effort needed to himself in control.

"That was your pinkie finger," Sneers murmured, bringing his head close to the Overdweller's as well, his voice almost a whisper. "You've still got nine digits left to go before I start on your wrists."

"Go to hell," The Overdweller sneered, drawing a sharp breath – and grunting as another dry snap pierced the air, clenching his jaw and eye shut.

"Two down," Sneers whispered – and, Spirits help Smellerbee, with the queasy sensation lurching through her guts, she felt her resolve as a leader begin to shake – this was _torture_, wasn't it, this was almost something Jet might have done –

- and she wasn't _Jet_, she didn't plan to lead the Freedom Fighters down the same path he had, because leading and trying to be someone she wasn't would have been too much to burden herself with at one time -

- _but_, sometimes you had to go down a dark path, regardless of your best intentions. If they didn't do this, the Overdweller wouldn't talk and Pestle and any other missing Freedom Fighters might never be found. This wasn't following in Jet's footsteps, or regressing to how things had been before she learned to think for herself; it was making the hard choice, and that's what leadership was really all about. She swallowed - the nausea didn't vanish, but she felt - felt more justified knowing all this.

"So, are you feeling talkative yet?" Smellerbee asked.

"I'll cut out my own tongue before – AAH!"

(Good, he yelped this time)

"Three," Sneers said. "You've only got your pointer finger and thumb left on that hand. Are you still feeling cute?"

"Nff – " Squeezing his eye shut, the Overdweller tried to twist his head, but Smellerbee's fingers tangled into his hair kept him steady. "I – the girl, the girl is _alive_, damn you! My lieutenants will bring her to me, yes, they _will_, once they know I've fallen! And then you will find yourself in a much more substantial dilemma!"

"Where _is_ she?" Smellerbee growled.

"You'll not find her until she arrives – " Another dry snap, and he yelped again, and – and yes, she felt a _little_ satisfied by it, but mostly sick, this was terrible, she should just slash the man's throat and be _done_ with it.

"Fine." Her patience wore thin. "What about the others? Who else have you spirited away?"

"The – the girl is the only one I've had to take! I swear you that much is true, it is, it _is!_"

She cast a glance over to Sneers, and the monk kept his focus on their enemy, indecision rife on his face. "It's possible he's telling the truth. I had to build an intelligence network over the last month, and some of the others have left the forest to pursue those ends."

"Acceptable enough," she conceded, turning her attention back to the Overdweller. "How did you find out about this place?"

"I – " He flinched, but no snapping sound broke into the sky – Sneers probably had that last finger in hand, though, and the Overdweller knew what would come next by this point, and was he really willing to go through any more? "Twelve years ago, in the Fire Navy. I was just a leading seaman, I was, I _was_, serving on the ships in the south. Promotion after promotion passed me by, and I was trying so hard, yes yes yes, I _was_, I was doing what few other soldiers _would_ do, I researched, I scouted potential colonization areas, and I read about this forest in one of the scrolls, a forest where the leaves stay red all year round!"

Smellerbee felt her eyes narrow. In the raucous cacophony of the past few hours, she hadn't even paused to consider that the Overdweller might be Fire Nation. But, he _was_, if his story had any truth to it, and now – now she felt a little more justified, this made things a little clearer, because he would already have been ingrained with the mindset of conquering the world for his nation's glory.

"At first I disregarded it, I did, because a navy has no business traveling so far inland, especially when a southern fleet would have to go to the _northern_ hemisphere, yes yes yes!" The Overdweller's teeth – yellow, scummy, had been bared as he scowled at the two Freedom Fighters, his eye slipping from one to the other in rapid succession. "But, but but but! Two years ago, the letters - one of the officers on my ship! He got a letter, a letter from a relative in prison, a letter I opened and read without his knowledge, no, a letter mentioning this same forest, the one where the leaves were always red! It was then, yes, _then_ that I had a vision, _yes_, the Spirits came to me that night in my quarters, and they told me my destiny! I was to come to this very forest, the one that was not _right_ because it was in the wrong _place_ and the wrong _climate_ and I was to bring unity, I was to command it, I would be the _one_ to secure it for my own purposes!"

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he continued with venom laced in his voice. "By then, legend had long since circulated of Jeong Jeong the deserter and I knew, I _knew_ I could desert too, I could desert like General Jeong Jeong had, and I spent the last two years building my followers!"

"Hmph." Sneers released the Overdweller's hand. "Can I kill him _now_, mother?"

Smellerbee lowered her gaze. Was it time for that…? Pestle wasn't here yet, which was the main problem, and the Overdweller would serve as a nice bargaining chip (one to be betrayed shortly after a hostage exchange, one to have his spirit and body severed from each other, honor be damned), and she shook her head in response. "Just a little more time."

"I'm losing patience," Sneers hissed, and Smellerbee heard him crack his knuckles. "I've let you lead for long enough. Now I'm going to – "

"Lord Overdweller!"

Smellerbee and Sneers whipped their heads around to see the two bandits from before – the ones from three years ago, the last pair to survive that fateful encounter – enter the clearing, panic in their eyes. "The Earthbender girl! She's gone!"

It was just the distraction the Overdweller needed, because from the corner of her eyes Smellerbee saw flickering orange come to life; she and Sneers jumped back as the Overdweller lashed at the air with a fiery whip, missing the Freedom Fighters by a fraction of an inch, and she cursed, she should have _known_ –

Freed, the Overdweller sauntered over to his remaining lieutenants, brandishing a ball of fire in his unbroken hand, a triumphant smirk on his face. Smellerbee held, crouched down low, her sword at the ready – no, this wasn't a good position, he could be bluffing, they could have Pestle in hand – the other Freedom Fighters stood their ground, waiting for the word to drop -

"You have taken my vision from me," The Overdweller called, giving a dramatic wave of his wounded hand to those he had oppressed. "You have, you are bad children, you reject _my __unity_, and for that, you will suffer without me." The Overdweller turned to the bandits, said, "Thank you for the ploy, gentlemen, and if you would please relinquish the girl - "

(_There's no more time, act __now_)

Moving, Longshot's hat slipped down the back of her head, she whipped through the air and felt her hair ruffling, and her obsidian blade parted the brown and crimson backdrop of the forest but –

- two rocks erupted from the ground behind the bandits, conical and sharp and driven into their backs, sending them airborne, flying, sprawling face-first onto the ground – Pestle, free, not a captive, two battle hammers in hand, three more Freedom Fighters Smellerbee didn't recognize at her backs -

- the Earthbender dropped as the Overdweller shot a lance of flame through the space where her head had been just moments before -

- and there was Mortar, vengeful, rage scrawled onto her face, her good arm raised up, and another spire erupted from the ground near the Overdweller – he danced, he moved out of the way, avoiding the blow with unusual grace for a middle-aged man -

- he clamped his arm around Mortar's neck, his wounded hand twitching, pulled back a fist, _no no no NO_ -

Flames danced across his knuckles as he drove a solid punch into Mortar's gut – and, at the same time, another rock spire burst from the ground. The effect was sudden, and brilliant, and terrible all at once and Smellerbee stopped short because – because it was too _late_ – and a pillar of flame erupted from Mortar's back, and the pointed tip of the spire pierced the Overdweller's chest and, and, so much _blood_ –

The Overdweller's grasp on the young Earthbender slackened. Mortar slumped, slid to the ground, landed in a heap, her mud-brown curls draped around her head like a, like a pelt. She didn't move. Oh Spirits, she didn't _move_, not after Telltale –

- and Pestle was at her side instantly, talking, so many words, but they were dull, echoes really, Smellerbee couldn't perceive them, because – because she could see _through_ Mortar, see the forest floor through her abdomen, and there was – there was _nothing she could do_…

That wasn't true. There was _something_ she could do. There always was.

Turning to the Overdweller, she could see that he – he was still alive, yes, he had survived, but he didn't have much longer for this world, his breathing came out thick and heavy and ragged and _wet_, and blood streaked his chin with running, shimmering scarlet. Smellerbee walked over to him and addressed him silently, with cold eyes and her mouth set into a straight line.

"Well," The Overdweller panted, the words hoarse and laborious, "maybe not…the _blonde_ girl…but the other…will do, just…fine."

(_He's taken enough life today._)

With that thought in mind, finishing the job would be easy. The light filtering down through the leaves and boughs of the forest turned a strange, dull brown; the swordswoman glanced up, for only a moment, to see that the sun had vanished behind a great black disk, swallowed by the shadow of the planet. A solar eclipse. If there was some sort of symbolism behind this, she couldn't grasp it quite yet – too many thoughts, the concept of losing Mortar and Telltale flittered through her head, a hummingbird zipping from flower to flower in search of nectar, never stopping for very long. A great, buzzing cacophony thrumming inside her skull. Too much.

Time to shut it all up. Smellerbee brought her sword up and made a great, horizontal slash; the blade, still sharp despite its seasons of disuse, cleaved flesh and bone effortlessly, and the monster's head landed on the ground with a wet, heavy _thump_.

The Overdweller had fallen.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_No no no no no NO!_

Saw the - the Overdweller - grab Mortar around the neck - fingers looked broken - raise his good fist back, aglow with fire - move, Pestle, move, save her, save Mortar, you're _nothing_ without her, too slow, had to push up off the ground, legs, arms heavy, hammers gone, breath hot - but her head, her head was light, if she could just - just clench a fist - bring it up - do what she had to do - she did, she howled and thrust one arm up into the air, a spire of rock, of earth, impaling the man's chest, but not in time not in time no Mortar fire fire bad Mortar Mortar _Mortar_ -

Pestle was up, the weight gone, tears blurring her vision, streaming down her face, she stumbled, dropped down to her knees at Mortar's side - a hole, a hole inside her, clothes, skin burnt black around it, and, and Mortar looked up at Pestle with glossy eyes - gasped once - then, nothing, body went lax, no, no no no no, not Mortar, no, no it couldn't, Mortar was, was everything, Pestle's world, Pestle's backbone, her strength and power and courage because without Mortar, Pestle had none of these things, Pestle had let Mortar down when Mortar had fought back against the Overdweller, the _murderer_, and she'd let her down again, had, had let the Overdweller kill her, no, she couldn't be dead, she _couldn't!_

She felt - she felt her throat tightening, realized that she, she was speaking, yelling, crying, couldn't tell what was coming it, but, but, no, Mortar, don't _leave_, come back, come back, come...

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Six: It's All or Nothing**

**End**


End file.
